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ALVMNVS  BOOK  FVND 


FUKD 

lio 


M 


The  People  of  Our 
Neighborhood 

BY 

Mary  E.  Wilkins 

AUTHOR     OF 

"A  NEW  ENGLAND  NUN" 


I  903 
MELVILLE    PUBLISHING    CO. 
161   Bank  Street      :      :      New  York 


Copyright,  1895,  '96,  '97,  '98,  by 
CURTIS  PUBLISHING   CO. 


Contents 


/ 1  -.. 


Timotiiy  Sampson  : 

The  Wise  Man  . 
Little  Margaret  Snell  : 

The  Village  Runaway 
Cyrus  Emmett  : 

The  Unlucky  Man    . 
Phebe  Ann  Little  : 

The  Neat  Woman     . 
Amanda  Todd  : 

The  Friend  of  Cats 
Lydia  Wheelock  : 

The  Good  Woman  . 
A  Quilting  Bee  in  Our  Village  . 
The  Stockwells'  Apple-Paring  Bee 
The  Christmas  Sing  in  Our  Village 


1 

23 
41 
5& 


91 

111 
129 
149 


Cl3- 


Timothy   Samson  :   The 
Wise  Man 


I 


413089 


Timothy  Samson:    The 
Wise  Man 


Timothy  Samson  is  not  a  college  grad- 
uate, not  more  than  three  men  in  this 
village  are.  I  never  heard  that  he  was 
remarkable  as  a  boy  for  his  standing  in 
the  district  school,  but  he  is  the  village 
sage.  Nobody  disputes  it.  The  doctor, 
the  lawyer  and  the  minister  all  have  to 
give  precedence  to  him.  The  doctor  may 
know  something  about  physic,  the  lawyer 
about  law  and  the  minister  about  theol- 
ogy, but  Timothy  Samson  knows  some- 
thing about  everything. 

The  doctor's  practice  suffers  through 
Timothy.  If  any  of  the  neighbors  or 
their  children  are  ill  they  are  very  apt 
to  call  in  Timothy  instead  of  the  doctor. 


Timothy  Samson :  The  Wise  Man 

For  one  reason,  they  have  nearly  as  much 
confidence  in  him;  for  another  reason,  it 
saves  the  doctor's  fee. 

Timothy  Samson  seems  able  to  tell  al- 
most at  a  glance  whether  a  child  is  com- 
ing down  with  a  simple  cold  or  the  whoop- 
ing cough,  with  measles  or  scarlet  fever, 
with  mumps  or  quinsy.  He  has  a  little 
stock  of  medicines  in  his  chimney  closet 
in  his  kitchen.  Timothy's  medicine  bot- 
tles, which  hold  a  good  quart  apiece,  are 
always  kept  replenished.  Nothing  is  ever 
lacking  in  case  of  need.  Most  of  them  he 
concocts  himself,  from  roots  and  herbs, 
with  a  judicious  use  of  stimulants.  For 
this  last  he  is  forced  to  make  a  slight 
charge  when  medicine  is  taken  in  large 
quantities.  "  I  ask  jest  enough  to  cover 
the  cost  of  the  stimulants/'  he  says,  and 
little  enough  it  is — only  a  few  cents  upon 
a  quart.  Timothy's  ministrations  are  sim- 
ply for  humanity's  sake  and  love  of  the 
healing  art,  and  not  for  gain. 

He  is  a  cobbler,  a  mender  of  the  cheap 
rustic  shoes  that  wear  out  their  soles  and 


Timothy  Samson :   The  Wise  Man 

stub  their  toes  on  our  rough  country 
roads.  He  used,  until  machine-work  came 
in  vogue,  to  make  all  the  shoes  for  the 
neighborhood  by  hand.  Indeed,  there  are 
now  some  few  conservative  mothers  of 
•families  who  employ  him  twice  a  year  to 
fit  out  their  children  with  his  coarse, 
faithful  handiwork.  Timothy  owns  his 
little  cottage  house,  and  his  little  garden, 
and  his  little  apple  orchard.  He  paid  for 
them  long  ago  with  his  small  savings,  and 
now  he  earns  just  enough  by  cobbling  to 
pay  his  taxes  and  keep  himself  and  his 
old  wife  in  their  plain  and  simple  neces- 
saries of  life. 

Timothy's  shoe  shop  forms  a  tiny  ell 
of  his  tiny  house.  In  it  he  has  a  little 
rusty  box-stove,  which  is  usually  red  hot 
through  the  winter  months,  for  Timothy 
is  a  chilly  man;  his  work-bench  with  its 
sagging  leather  seat,  a  rude  table  heaped 
with  lasts,  and  three  or  four  stools  and 
backless  chairs  for  callers.  The  hot  air 
is  stifling  with  leather  and  the  reek  of 
ancient     tobacco     smoke,     for     Timothy 

5 


Timothy  Samson  :   The  Wise  Man 

smokes  a  pipe.  A  strange  atmosphere,  it 
seems,  for  wisdom  to  thrive  in. 

Often  an  anxious  mother  is  seen  to  scut- 
tle down  the  road  with  her  shawl  thrown 
over  her  head,  and  disappear  from  the 
eyes  of  neighbors  in  Timothy's  shoe-shop 
and  reappear  with  Timothy  ambling  at 
her  heels. 

Timothy  is  a  small,  spare  old  man,  and 
he  has  a  curious  gait,  but  he  gets  over 
the  ground  rapidly  when  he  goes  on  such 
errands. 

The  children  like  Timothy;  they  are 
not  as  afraid  of  him  as  of  the  doctor. 
Sometimes  one  sets  up  a  doleful  lament 
when  the  doctor  is  proposed,  but  is  com- 
forted when  his  mother  says:  "Well,  I'll 
run  over  an'  get  Timothy  Samson.  I  guess 
he'll  do  jest  about  as  well." 

The  children  run  out  their  tongues 
quite  readily  for  Timothy  to  inspect;  they 
even  stretch  their  mouths  obediently  for 
his  potent  doses.  There  may,  however, 
be  reasons  for  their  preference.  All  of 
Timothy's  medicines  are  tinctured  high 
6 


Timothy  Samson  :   The  Wise  Man 

with,  flavors  which  are  pleasant  and  even 
delectable  to  childish  palates,  and  they 
are  well  sweetened.  So  much  peppermint 
and  sassafras  and  wintergrcen,  indeed, 
does  Timothy  infuse  in  his  remedies  that 
the  doctor  has  been  known  to  be  very 
sarcastic  over  it.  "  Might  as  well  take 
sassafras-tea  and  done  with  it,"  he  said 
once  with  a  sniff  at  the  dregs  of  Timo- 
thy's medicine  when  Mrs.  Harrison  White 
called  him  in  to  see  her  Tommy,  after 
Timothy  had  attended  him  for  two  weeks. 
But  the  doctor  was  three  weeks  curing 
Tommy  after  that,  and  she  called  in  Tim- 
othy the  next  time  the  child  was  sick. 

Aside  from  the  pleasant  flavors  of  Tim- 
othy's medicines  there  is  another  induce- 
ment for  taking  them.  Always  after  the 
patient  has  swallowed  his  dose  he  tucks 
into  his  mouth  a  most  delicious  little  mo- 
lasses drop  made  by  Mrs.  Timothy. 

She  makes  these  drops  as  no  one  in 
the  village  can;  indeed  she  holds  jeal- 
ously to  the  receipt,  and  cannot  be  coaxed 
to  disclose  it.     She  keeps  her  husband's 

7 


Timothy  Samson  :   The  Wise  Man 

pockets  filled  with  the  drops;  for  some 
occult  reason  they  never  seem  to  stick, 
even  in  hot  weather. 

Mrs.  Timothy  is  a  tall,  shy,  pale  old 
woman  who  scarcely  ever  speaks  unless 
she  is  asked  a  direct  question.  There  is 
a  curious  lack  of  active  individuality 
about  her.  At  times  she  seems  like  noth- 
ing so  much  as  a  sort  of  spiritual  looking- 
glass  for  the  reflection  of  Timothy,  and 
3ret  he  is  not  an  imperious  or  unpleasantly 
self-assertive  man.  Still,  great  self-con- 
fidence lie  undoubtedly  has,  and  that  may 
eliminate  a  weaker  nature  without  design- 
ing to  do  so.  Perhaps  the  whole  village 
reflects  Timothy  more  or  less,  after  the 
manner  of  his  wife. 

Many  a  tale  is  told  of  a  triumph  of 
his  sagacity  over  the  doctors,  and  people 
listen  with  pride  and  chuckling  delight. 
The  doctor  is  a  surly,  gruff  and  not  very 
popular  old  man,  and  everybody  loves  to 
relate  how  "the  doctor  said  Mis'  Nehe- 
miah  Stockwell  had  erysipelas,  and  doc- 
tored her  for  that  several  months,  and  she 
8 


Timothy  Samson  :   The  Wise  Man 

got  worse.  Then  they  called  in  Timothy 
Samson  on  the  sly,  and  he  said,  jest  as 
soon  as  he  see  her,  'twa'n't  erysipelas, 
'twas  poison  ivy,  an'  put  on  plantain  leaves 
and  castor  oil,  and  cured  her  right  up." 

Timothy  Samson's  triumphs  in  law  and 
theology  are  even  greater  than  in  medi- 
cine. He  draws  up  wills,  free  of  charge, 
which  stand  without  a  question;  he  col- 
lects hills  with  wonderful  success.  Every- 
body knows  how  he  made  Mr.  Samuel 
Paine  pay  the  twenty-five  dollars  and 
sixty-three  cents  which  he  had  been  ow- 
ing John  Leavitt  over  a  year  for  wood. 
John  had  asked  and  asked,  but  he  began 
to  think  he  should  never  get  a  cent. 
Samuel  Paine  is  one  of  the  most  pros- 
perous men  in  the  village,  too;  he  owns 
the  grist  mill.  Finally  poor  John  Leav- 
itt sought  aid  from  Timothy  Samson,  who 
bestowed  it. 

Mrs.  Samuel  Paine  had  company  to  tea 
that  afternoon — the  minister  and  his  wife, 
and  some  out-of-town  cousins  of  hers  who 
have  married  well.    They  wore  stiff  black 

9 


Timothy  Samson  :   The   Wise  Man 

silks  trimmed  with  jet,  and  carried  gold 
watches;  the  neighbors  saw  them  out  in 
the  yard. 

They  had  taken  their  seats  at  the  tea- 
table,  which  Mrs.  Paine  had  bedecked 
with  her  best  linen  and  china;  the  min- 
ister had  asked  the  blessing,  and  Mrs. 
Paine  was  about  to  pour  the  tea,  and  Mr. 
Paine  to  pass  the  biscuits,  when  Timothy 
Samson  walked  in  without  knocking. 

He  bade  the  company  good -day,  and 
then,  with  no  preface  at  all,  addressed  Mr. 
Samuel  Paine  upon  the  subject  of  his 
long-standing  debt  to  John  Leavitt.  He 
told  him  that  John  Leavitt  was  a  poor 
man,  and  in  sore  need  of  a  barrel  of  flour. 

"  Poor  John  Leavitt,  he  can't  afford  to 
have  no  sech  fine  company  as  you've  got 
to-night,  an'  give  'em  no  sech  hot  biscuits 
and  peach  sauce,  and  frosted  cake,"  said 
Timothy,  pitilessly  eyeing  the  table;  "  he 
can't  have  what  he  actilly  needs,  'cause 
you  don't  pay  your  just  debt." 

Samuel  Paine,  thus  admonished,  turned 
red,  then  white,  but  said  not  a  word,  only 
10 


Timothy  Samson  :   The   Wise  Man 

pulled  his  old  leather  wallet  stiffly  out 
of  his  pocket,  and  poor  John  Leavitt  had 
his  barrel  of  flour  that  night. 

And  all  the  village  knows  how  Timothy 
settled  the  dispute  between  Lysander 
Mann  and  Anson  White.  Anson's  hens 
encroached  upon  Lysander's  young  gar- 
den; he  would  not  shut  them  up,  and 
Lysander  threatened  to  go  to  law.  They 
had  hot  words  about  it.  But  Timothy 
said  to  Lysander,  with  that  inimitably 
shrewd  wink  of  his  handsome  bine  eye?, 
which  must  have  been  seen  by  everybody 
hearing  the  story,  who  knows  Timothy, 
"  Why  don't  you  fix  up  a  nice  leetle  coop, 
an'  some  nice  leetle  nests  in  your  yard, 
Lysander?  " 

xlnd  Lysander  did,  and  Anson  shut  up 
his  hens  when  they  took  to  laying  eggs 
upon  his  neighbor's  premises,  instead  of 
scratching  up  his  peas  and  beans. 

When  theology  is  in  question  there  is  a 
popular  belief  in  the  village  that  the  min- 
ister is  indebted  to  Timothy  for  many  a 
good  point  in  his  sermen. 


Timothy  Samson :   The  Wise  Man 

In  fact,  the  minister,  who  is  an  old  and 
somewhat  prosy  man,  seldom  gets  credit 
among  many  of  his  congregation  for  any 
bright  and  original  thought  of  his  own. 
People  nod  meaningly  at  each  other,  as 
mnch  as  to  say,  "  That's  Timothy  Sam- 
son." It  is  universally  conceded  that  if 
Timothy  had  been  properly  educated  he 
would  have  made  a  much  better  parson 
than  the  parson.  Timothy  is  especially 
gifted  in  prayer,  and  often  seems  to  bear 
the  whole  burden  of  the  conference  meet- 
ing upon  his  shoulders. 

He  is  one  of  the  deacons,  and  he  passes 
the  sacramental  bread  and  wine  with  the 
stately  and  solemn  bearing  of  an  apostle. 
Indeed,  there  is  something  which  ap- 
proaches the  apostolic  ideal  in  the  appear- 
ance of  Timothy  Samson,  with  his  hand- 
some, benignantly-beaming  old  face,  and 
his  waving  gray  locks.  There  is  only 
one  thing  which  conflicts  with  it,  and 
that  is  the  twinkle  of  acute  worldly 
wisdom  and  shrewdness  in  his  blue  eyes. 
One   cannot   imagine   an   apostle   twink- 

12 


Timothy  Samson :   The  Wise  Man 

ling  upon  his  fellow-men,  after  that 
fashion. 

Besides  the  wisdom  comprised  under 
the  three  heads  of  medicine,  law  and  the- 
ology, Timothy  has  more  of  varied  kinds 
in  stock.  He  is  strangely  weatherwise. 
He  seems  to  read  the  clouds  and  the  winds 
like  the  chapters  of  a  book.  "We  all  be- 
lieve he  could  write  an  almanac  as  good 
as  the  "  Old  Farmers' "  if  he  were  so  dis- 
posed. If  the  Sunday-school  thinks  of 
having  a  picnic  Timothy  is  consulted,  and 
the  day  he  selects  is  invariably  fair.  He 
has  even  been  known  to  name  the  wed- 
ding day  instead  of  the  bride. 

Not  a  woman  in  the  "village  dreams  of 
going  abroad  in  best  bonnet  and  gown  if 
Timothy  Samson  says  it  will  storm.  On 
the  other  hand,  one  sets  forth  in  her  fin- 
est array,  and  carries  no  umbrella,  no  mat- 
ter how  lowering  the  clouds  are,  if  Tim- 
othy gives  the  word  that  it  will  be  fair. 

Timothy  knows  when  there  will  be  a 
drought  and  when  a  frost.  Often  we 
should  lose  our  grapes  or  our  melons  were 

*3 


Timothy  Samson  :   The  Wise  Man 

it  not  for  Timothy's  timely  warning  to 
cover  them  before  nightfall  with  old 
blankets  and  carpets.  Timothy  is  a  master 
gardener,  and  knows  well  how  to  make 
refractory  plants  bud  and  blossom.  He 
grafts  sour  and  stubborn  old  fruit  trees 
into  sweet  and  luscious  bearing;  he  knows 
how  to  prune  vines  and  hedges  and  rose- 
bushes. 

Timothy  always  knows  where  the  blue- 
berries and  blackberries  grow  thickest,  and 
pilots  the  children  thither,  and  he  knows 
the  haunt  of  the  partridge  if  an  invalid 
has  a  longing  for  delicate  wild  meat. 

Timothy's  wisdom  can  apply  itself  to 
small  matters  as  well  as  great,  and  fit  the 
minutest  needs  of  daily  life.  If  a  house- 
wife's carpet  will  not  go  down,  if  her  cur- 
tains will  not  roll  up,  if  the  stove-pipe  will 
not  fit,  his  aid  is  sought  and  never  fails. 
If  any  one  of  the  thousand  little  house- 
hold difficulties  beset  her,  Timothy  runs 
over  in  his  shoemaker's  apron  and  sets  the 
matter  right. 

If  there  is  any  matter  which  Timothy's 

14 


Timothy  Samson :   The  Wise  Man 

wisdom  can  fail  to  cover  we  have  yet  to 
find  it. 

If  this  sage  did  not  live  in  our  village 
what  should  we  all  be?  Should  we  ever 
go  anywhere  without  spoiling  our  best 
bonnets?  Should  we  have  any  wisdom  at 
all  unless  we  paid  the  highest  market 
price  for  it?  And  we  could  not  do  that, 
because  we  are  all  poor.  What  shall  we 
do  when  our  wise  man  is  gathered  to  his 
fathers?    AYe  dare  not  contemplate  that. 


i5 


Little  Margaret  Snell :  The 
Village  Runaway 


Little  Margaret  Snell  :   The 
Village  Runaway 


It  certainly  goes  rather  hard  for  any 
mother  in  this  village,  of  a  fanciful  and 
romantic  turn  of  mind,  who  tries  to  de- 
part from  our  staid  old  customs  in  the 
naming  of  her  children.  She  is  directly 
thought  to  be  putting  on  airs  in  a  par- 
ticularly foolish  fashion,  and  her  attempts 
are  frustrated  so  far  as  may  be. 

For  instance,  when  Mrs.  White  named 
her  second  boy  Reginald,  and  the  neigh- 
bors knew  that  there  was  no  such  appella- 
tion in  the  family,  that  it  was  only  a 
"  fancy  name,"  they  sniffed  contemptu- 
ously, and  called  him  "  Ridgy."  Ridgy 
White  he  will  be  in  this  village  until  the 

J9 


Little  Margaret  Snell 

day  of  his  death.  And  when  Mrs.  Beals 
named  her  little  girl  Gertrude,  the  school- 
children, who  scorned  such  fine  names, 
transformed  it  to  "  Gritty,"  and  Gritty  the 
poor  child  goes. 

As  for  Marg'ret  Snell,  she  fared  some- 
what better;  she  might  easily  have  been 
dubbed  Gritty  too,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
fact  that  Gertrude  Beals  is  eight  months 
older,  and  went  to  school  first.  She  is 
only  called  in  strict  conformance  to  the 
homely  old  customs  "  Marg'ret "  and 
sometimes  "  Margy,"  with  a  hard  g,  when 
her  real  name  is  Marguerite. 

How  the  neighbors  sniffed  when  they 
learned  what  Francis  Snell's  wife  had 
named  her  girl-baby.  Miss  Lurinda  Snell, 
Francis'  sister,  told  of  it  in  Mrs.  Harrison 
White's.  She  had  dropped  in  there  one 
afternoon,  about  a  weeL  after  Marg'ret's 
birth,  and  several  other  neighbors  had 
dropped  in,  too. 

"  Sophi'  has  named  the  baby,"  said  Lu- 
rinda. Mrs.  Francis  Snell's  name  is  So- 
phia, but  everybody  calls  her  "  Sophi," 
20 


Little  Margaret  Snell 

"with  a  strong  emphasis  on  the  last  syl- 
lable. 

Then  the  others  inquired  eagerly  what 
she  had  named  it,  and  Lurinda  replied 
with  a  scornful  lift  and  twist  of  her  thin 
nose  and  lips:  "Marguerite/' 

";  Marg'rct,  you  mean/'  said  the  others. 

"  No,  it's  Marguerite,"  said  Lurinda. 

"  "Where  did  she  get  such  a  name  as 
that  ?  "  asked  the  neighbors. 

"  Out  of  a  book  of  poetry,"  replied  Lu- 
rinda, with  another  scornful  sneer. 

The  neighbors  then  and  there  agreed 
that  it  was  very  silly  to  twist  about  a  good 
sensible  name,  and  Frenchify  it  in  that 
way;  that  Sophi  read  too  much,  and  that 
she  wouldn't  be  likely  to  have  much  gov- 
ernment. 

Whether  the  former  course  was  silly  or 
not  the*y  have  certainly  never  abetted  it; 
not  one  of  them  has  ever  called  the  little 
girl  anything  but  Marg'ret  or  Margy,  and 
whether  they  were  right  or  not  about 
Mrs.  SnelPs  superfluous  reading,  they 
most  assuredly  were  about  her  lack  of  gov- 

21 


Little  Margaret  Snell 

eminent.  Sophia  Snell  is  a  good  woman, 
and  probably  one  of  the  most  intellectual 
persons  in  the  village,  but  she  does  hold 
a  loose  rein  over  her  domestic  affairs. 
That  broad,  white,  abstracted  brow  of  hers 
cannot  seem  to  bring  itself  to  bear  very 
well  upon  stray  buttons,  and  heavy  bread 
and  childish  peccadillos.  Francis  Snell 
sews  on  his  buttons  himself  or  uses  pins, 
or  his  sister  Lurinda  calls  him  in  and 
sews  them  on  for  him  with  strong  and 
virtuous  jerks.  It  is  popularly  believed 
that  he  never  cats  light  bread  unless  his 
sister  takes  pity  upon  him,  and  as  for  lit- 
tle Marg'ret,  she  runs  loose.  She  always 
has,  ever  since  she  could  run  at  all.  When 
she  was  nothing  but  a  bab}%  and  tumbled 
over  her  petticoats  every  few  minutes,  she 
was  repeatedly  captured  and  brought  back 
to  her  mother,  who  immediately  let  her 
run  away  again,  with  the  same  impeded 
but  persistent  species  of  locomotion. 

Before  little  Marg'ret  was  three  years 
old  she  had  toddled  and  tumbled  all  alone 
by  herself  over  the    entire    village,    and 


Little  Margaret  Snell 

often  far  on  the  outskirts.  Once  Thomas 
Gleason,  who  lives  on  a  farm  three  miles 
out,  brought  her  home.  Nobody  could 
understand  how  she  got  there,  but  she  tod- 
dled into  the  yard  at  sunset  in  her  little 
muddy  pink  frock,  with  one  shoe  gone, 
and  no  bonnet,  very  dirty,  but  very  smil- 
ing, and  not  at  all  tired  or  frightened. 

Little  Marg'ret  never  was  afraid  of  any- 
body or  anything.  Probably  there  is  not 
another  such  example  of  absolute  fearless- 
ness in  the  village  as  she.  She  marches 
straight  up  to  cross  dogs  and  cows,  the 
dark  has  no  terrors  for  her,  the  loudest 
clap  of  thunder  does  not  make  her  child- 
ish bosom  quake.  And  she  certainly  has 
no  fear,  and  possibly  no  respect,  for  mor- 
tal man.  Speak  harshly  to  her,  even  give 
her  a  little  smart  shake,  or  cuff  her  small, 
naughty  hands,  and  she  stands  looking  up 
at  you  as  innocently  and  unabashedly  as  a 
pet  kitten. 

Everybody  prophesied  that  little  Marg'- 
ret, through  this  fearlessness  of  hers, 
would  come  soon    to    an    untimely    end. 

23 


Little  Margaret  Snell 

"  She'll  get  bitten  by  a  dog  or  hooked  by 
a  cow,"  they  said.  "  She'll  get  lost,  she'll 
follow  a  strange  man,  she'll  walk  into  the 
pond  and  get  drowned."  But  she  never 
has,  so  far,  and  she  is  going  bravely  on 
to  six. 

Little  Marg'ret's  Aunt  Lnrinda  Snell 
has  probably  endured  sharper  pangs  of 
anxiety  on  her  account  than  anybody  else. 
Marg'ret's  father  is  an  easy-going  man;  his 
sister  Lurinda  seems  to  have  all  the  capac- 
ity for  worry  in  the  family. 

Lurinda  is  much  given  to  sitting  in  her 
front  window.  She  arises  betimes  of  a 
morning,  and  her  solitar}r  maiden  house  is 
soon  set  to  rights,  and  not  a  soul  who 
comes  down  the  street  escapes  her.  Let 
little  Marg'ret  essay  to  scamper  past,  and 
straightway  comes  the  sharp  tap  of  bony 
knuckles  upon  the  window-pane,  then  the 
window  slides  up  with  a  creak,  and  Lu- 
rinda's  voice  is  heard,  sharp  and  shrill, 
"Marg'ret,  Marg'ret,  you  stop!  Where 
you  going?" 

Then  when  Marg'ret  scuds  past,  with  a 
24 


Little  Margaret  Snell 

roguish,  cock  of  lier  head  toward  the 
window,  the  call  comes  again,  "Margaret 
Snell,  yon  stop!  Yon  come  right  in 
here  !  " 

But  Marg'ret  seldom  comes  to  order. 
She  goes  where  she  wills,  and  nowhere 
ebe.  The  very  essence  of  freedom  seems 
to  be  in  her  childish  spirit.  You  might  as 
well  try  to  command  a  little  wild  rabbit. 
All  Lurinda's  shrill  orders  are  of  no  avail, 
unless  she  sees  her  soon  enough  to  .head 
her  off,  and  actually  brings  her  into  the 
house  by  dint  of  superior  bodily  strength. 

If  Marg'ret  has  once  the  start,  her  aunt 
can  never  catch  her,  but  sometimes  she 
starts  across  her  track  before  the  little 
wild  thing  has  time  to  double.  Then,  in- 
deed, there  are  struggles  and  wails  and 
shrill  interjections  of  wrath. 

To  compensate  for  her  lack  of  parental 
survey  the  whole  neighborhood,  as  well 
as  Lurinda,  takes  a  hand  at  controlling 
this  small  and  refractory  member, 
although  in  uncertain  fashion,  which, 
perhaps,  does  more  harm  than  good.  How- 

25 


Little  Margaret  Snell 

ever,  we  all  do  our  best  to  reduce  Marg'- 
ret  to  subjection,  each  for  one's  self — we 
are  driven  to  it. 

Xone  of  us  are  safe  from  an  invasion 
of  Marg'ret  at  any  hour  of  the  day,  upon 
all  occasions.  Have  we  any  very  particu- 
lar company  to  tea,  into  the  best  parlor 
walks  Marg'ret  in  her  soiled  pinafore,  with 
her  yellow  hair  in  a  tousle,  and  her  face 
very  dirty,  and  sweetly  smiling,  and  seats 
herself  in  the  best  chair,  if  a  guest  has 
not  anticipated  her.  When  told  with  that 
gentle  and  ladylike  authorit}r,  which  one 
can  display  before  company,  that  she  had 
better  run  right  home  like  a  good  little 
girl,  Marg'ret  sits  still  and  smiles. 

Then  there  is  nothing  to  do  but  to  say 
in  a  bland  voice  that  thinly  disguises  im- 
patience, "  Come  out  in  the  kitchen  with 
me,  Marg'ret,  and  I'll  give  you  a  piece  of 
cake,"  and  toll  her  out  in  that  way, — ■ 
Marg'ret  will  sell  her  birthright  of  her 
own  way  for  cake,  and  cake  alone, — and 
then  to  cram  the  cake  with  emphasis  into 
the  small  hand,  and  sa}',  "Marg'ret,  you 


Little  Margaret  Snell 

go  right  home  and  don't  you  come  over 
here  again  to-day."  But  no  one  can  be 
sure  that  she  will  not  appear  at  the  com- 
pany tea-table,  and  pull  at  the  company's 
black  silk  skirts  for  more  cake,  like  a  pet- 
ted pussy  cat. 

Marg'ret  walks  into  the  minister's  study 
when  he  is  writing  his  sermons  or  when  he 
is  conducting  family  prayers.  The  doc- 
tor keeps  his  dangerous  drugs  on  high 
shelves  where  she  cannot  reach  them;  he 
has  found  her  alone  in  his  office  so  many 
times.  She  walks  over  all  our  houses  as 
she  chooses.  We  are  never  sure  on  going 
into  any  room  that  Marg'ret  will  not  start 
up  like  a  little  elf  and  confront  us.  She 
has  been  found  asleep  in  the  middles  of 
spare  chamber  feather-beds;  she  has  been 
found  investigating  with  her  curious  lit- 
tle fingers  the  sacred  mysteries  of  best  par- 
lor china-closets. 

Little  Marg'ret  is  the  one  lively  and  ut- 
terly incorrigible  thing  in  our  dull  little 
village.  There  are  ethor  children,  but  she 
is  that  one  all-pervading  spirit  of  child- 

27 


Little  Margaret  Snell 

hood  which  keeps  us  all  fretting  but  pow- 
erless under  its  tyranny,  and  yet,  if  the 
truth  must  be  told,  ready  enough  to  cut 
for  it  the  sweet  cake,  which  it  loves,  when 
it  runs  away  into  our  hearts. 


28 


Cyrus   Emmett :   The 
Unlucky  Man 


Cyrus  Emmett :   The 
Unlucky  Man 

It  is  not  probable  that  Cyrus  Emmett'ff 
relations  intended  any  sarcasm  toward  a 
helpless  and  inoffensive  infant  when  they 
gave  him  the  name  of  the  great  Persian 
conqueror,  but  that  alone  has  proved  a 
mockery  of  his  lot  in  life.  Poor  Cyrus 
Emmett  has  not  been  able  to  conquer  even 
the  petty  obstacles  of  the  narrow  sphere  to 
which  he  was  born.  Even  in  this  humble 
village  of  humble  folk,  who  regard  tho 
luxuries  of  life  very  much  as  they  do  the 
moon,  as  something  so  beyond  their  reach 
as  to  make  desire  ridiculous,  Cyrus 
Emmett  has  the  superior  lowliness  of  the 
utterly  defeated.  Xot  one  of  the  other 
villagers  but  at  some  time  or  other  has 
had  his   own  little  triumph  of  success^ 

31 


Cyrus  Emmett :  The  Unlucky  Man 

which  gave  him  that  sense  of  power  which 
exalts  humanity.  He  has  married  the  pret- 
tiest girl  or  has  made  a  great  crop  of  hay, 
or  he  has  grown  the  finest  grapes,  or  built 
himself  a  tasty  house,  or  been  deacon  or 
selectman. 

Cyrus  Emmett  has  never  known  any- 
thing of  these  little  victories,  which,  be- 
ing well  proportioned  to  the  simple  con- 
tests, perhaps  produce  as  fine  a  quality  of 
triumph  as  did  those  of  the  great  Persian 
whose  name  he  bears. 

Poor  Cyrus,  when  a  boy  at  school,  never 

■  quite  got  to  the  head  of  his  class,  although 

no  one  studied  more  faithfully  than  he, 

.and  at  the  end  of  the  term  he  knew  his 

books  better.  Once  Cyrus  would  have  gone 

-to  the  head;  he  spelled  the  word  correctly, 

but  the  teacher  misunderstood.    Once  the 

two  scholars  above  him  had  the  mumps 

'and  were  absent,  and  he  would  then  have 

jlaken  his  place  at  the  head  had  he  not 

slipped  on  the  ice  on  his  way  to  school, 

..and  sprained  his  ankle. 

Always,  when  he  could  spell  a  word,  and 

32 


Cyrus  Emmett ;  The  Unlucky  Man 

the  scholars  above  him  were  failing,  and 
his  heart  was  beating,  and  his  head  swim- 
ming with  anticipated  triumph,  when  he 
leaned  forward  and  waved  his  arm  fran- 
tically, and  could  scarcely  be  restrained 
from  declaring  his  wisdom  before  his  turn, 
the  next  boy  gave  the  correct  answer  and 
went  to  the  head.  If  Cyrus  had  not  been 
so  near  success  his  disappointment  would 
not  have  been  so  great. 

Cyrus  made  a  signal  failure  in  his  boy- 
ish sports.  He  could  never  quite  reach 
the  bottom  of  a  hill  without  a  swerve  and 
roll  in  the  snow  when  almost  there,  and 
that,  too,  on  an  experienced  sled,  and  with 
no  difference  in  his  mode  of  steering,  that 
one  could  see.  If  there  was  a  stone  or 
snag  heretofore  unknown  on  the  course,. 
Cyrus  discovered  it  and  cut  short  his  ca- 
reer; if  another  boy  was  to  collide  with 
any  one  it  was  with  him. 

At  a  very  early  age  Cyrus  began  to  ex- 
cite a  feeling  compounded  of  contempt 
and  compassion  among  everybody  with, 
whom  he  came  in  contact. 

33 


Cyrus  Emmett :  The  Unlucky  Man 

"  Cyrus  Emmett  is  a  good  boy,  and  tries 
hard,  but  he  never  seems  to  make  out 
much,"  they  said. 

"  Try  again,  Cy,"  the  boys  shouted  when 
lie  toiled  up  the  hill  for  the  twentieth  time 
after  a  hard  toss  in  the  snow.  And  Cy- 
rus would  try  with  fierce  energy,  and  up- 
.set  again  amidst  exultant  laughter  from 
the  top  of  the  hill.  There  has  been,  from 
the  first,  no  lack  of  energy  and  persever- 
ance in  Cyrus  Emmett.  It  is  possible  that 
he  might  have  gained  more  respect  in  his 
defeats  if  there  had  been.  There  is,  after 
all,  a  certain  negative  triumph  in  declin- 
ing to  bestir  one's  self  against  excessive 
odds,  and  sitting  down  to  the  buffetings  of 
fate,  like  an  Indian,  maybe  with  a  steady 
fury  of  unconquerable  soul,  but  no  strug- 
gles nor  outcries.  Cyrus,  however,  has 
never  ceased  to  kick  against  the  unending 
pricks  of  Providence,  and  fall  back  and 
lack  again,  and  fall,  until  his  neighbors 
seem  never  to  have  seen  him  in  any  atti- 
tudes but  those  of  futile  attack  and  de- 
ieat.     Had  he  sat  stolidly  down  on  his 

34 


Cyrus  Emmett :  The  Unlucky  Man 

sled  nor  tried  to  coast  at  all,  and  defied 
his  adverse  fate  in  that  way,  it  is  quite 
probable  that  he  might  have  gained  more 
respect. 

Cyrus'  father  was  a  farmer;  a  thrifty 
man,  and  considered  quite  well-to-do,  as 
he  owned  his  place  and  stock  clear,  with, 
a  little  balance  in  the  savings  bank,  until 
Cyrus  was  old  enough  to  enter  into  active- 
co-operation  with  him  in  the  farm  man- 
agement. Then  things  began  to  go  wrong, 
but  seemingly  through  no  fault  of  Cyrus', 
nor  indeed  of  any  living  man. 

First  the  woodland  caught  fire,  and  all 
the  standing  wood  and  fifty  cords  of  cut 
went  up  in  flame  and  smoke.  Then  there 
was  a  terrible  hailstorm,  which  seemed  to 
spend  its  worst  fury  on  the  Emmett  farm, 
and  laid  waste  the  garden  and  the  corn- 
fields. Then  the  Emmetts'  potatoes  rot- 
ted, although  nobody's  else  in  the  village 
did.  That  year  half  the  little  balance  in 
the  savings  bank  was  drawn;  in  two  years 
more  the  Emmett  account  was  closed.  The 
old  man  died  not  long  after  that,  and  his. 

35 


Cyrus  Emmett :  The  Unlucky  Man 

son  inherited  the  farm;  his  wife  had  died 
long  before,  and  a  maiden  sister  of  his  had 
kept  house  for  him. 

The  year  after  his  father's  death  Cy- 
rus' barn  was  struck  by  lightning,  and 
burned  to  the  ground  with  several  head  of 
cattle  and  a  valuable  horse.  Then  Cyrus 
mortgaged  the  farm  to  build  a  new  barn 
and  buy  stock,  and  it  is  one  of  the  tragic 
tales  of  the  village  that  the  new  barn  had 
not  been  finished  a  week  before  that  also 
was  burned  because  of  the  hired  man's  up- 
setting a  lantern,  and  only  two  cows  were 
saved.  Then  Cyrus  borrowed  more,  and 
the  neighbors  went  to  the  raising  of  an- 
other barn,  and  lent  a  hand  in  the  build- 
ing. They  also  contributed  all  they  could 
spare  from  their  small  means  and  bought 
Cyrus  another  horse. 

But  it  was  not  long  before  the  horse 
sickened  and  died,  and  the  lightning 
struck  again  and  badly  shattered  one  end 
of  the  new  barn,  and  killed  a  cow,  besides 
stunning  Cyrus  so  severely  that  he  was  in 
/the  house  for  a  month  in  haying-time. 

36 


Cyrus  Emmett :  The  Unlucky  Man 

Then  the  neighbors  gave  up.  "It's  no  use 
tryin'  to  help  Cy  Emmett,  he  wasn't  born 
lucky/*'  they  said,  and  they  had  a  terrified 
and  uncanny  feeling,  as  if  they  had  been 
contending  against  some  evil  power. 

Once  Cyrus  had  what  seemed  for  a  little 
while  a  stroke  of  luck,  such  as  all  the 
village  people  have  known  at  least  the 
taste  of — he  drew  a  prize.  The  village 
does  not  approve  of  lotteries,  and  Cyrus 
had  been  brought  up  to  shun  them,  but 
that  time  he  was  tempted.  A  man  went 
the  rounds  selling  tickets  at  a  quarter  of 
a  dollar  apiece  on  a  horse  which  he  rep- 
resented as  very  valuable.  The  man  was 
a  third  cousin  of  Deacon  Xehemiah  Stock- 
well,  and  people  were  inclined  to  think  he 
was  reliable,  although  they  had  not  seen 
the  horse.  He  represented,  also,  that  the 
money  obtained  was  to  go  toward  the 
building  of  a  Baptist  church  in  East 
Windsor. 

Cyrus  had  just  lost  his  horse,  and  he 
h-ad  a  quarter  in  his  pocket  and  he  bought 
a  ticket  and  drew  the  prize.  It  went  around 
37 


Cyrus  Emmett :  The  Unlucky  Man 

the  village  like  wildfire.  "  Cy  Emmett  has 
drawn  the  horse."  Pretty  soon  two  men 
were  seen  leading  the  horse  through  the 
village.  It  seemed  odd  that  he  should  be 
led  instead  of  ridden,  that  it  should  re- 
quire two  men  to  lead  him,  also  that  he 
should  be  so  curiously  strapped  and  tied 
about  the  head  and  hindquarters.  How- 
ever, he  looked  like  a  fine  animal,  and 
tugged  and  pranced  as  well  as  he  could  un- 
der his  restrictions,  thereby  showing  his 
spirit.  He  was  said  to  be  very  valuable; 
Cyrus  Emmett  was  thought  to  be  actually 
in  luck  that  time. 

However,  poor  Cyrus'  luck  proved  to  be 
only  one  of  his  usual  misfortunes.  The 
horse  was  a  white  elephant  on  his  hands; 
he  could  not  be  harnessed,  and  he  threw 
every  rider  who  bestrode  him.  As  for 
working  the  farm,  he  might  as  well  have 
set  the  fabled  Pegasus  at  that.  He  kicked 
and  bit — it  was  dangerous  even  to  feed 
him. 

Finally  he  took  to  chewing  his  halter 
apart,  and  escaping  and  terrorizing  the 

38 


Cyrus  Emmett :  The  Unlucky  Man 

Tillage.  "  Cy  Emmett's  horse  is  loose  !  " 
was  the  signal  for  a  general  stampede.  At 
last  he  had  to  be  shot. 

Cyrus  Emmett,  when  he  was  a  little  tin- 
der forty,  had  the  mortgage  on  his  farm 
foreclosed,  and  went  to  live  in  a  poor  cot- 
tage with  a  few  acres  of  land  attached.  He 
has  lived  there  ever  since,  and  he  is  now 
past  sixty. 

Cyrus'  ill  luck  seems  to  have  followed 
him  in  his  love  affairs.  When  he  was  quite 
a  young  man  he  fell  in  love  with  Mary 
Ann  Linfield,  hut  she  would  not  have  him. 
She  married  Edward  Bassett  afterward. 

It  was  all  over  town  one  morning  that 
Z^Iary  Ann  had  jilted  Cyrus.  Her  mother 
ran  in  to  Miss  Lurinda  Snell  and  told  of  it. 
Cyrus  did  not  marry  until  his  old  aunt, 
who  kept  his  house,  died;  then  he  espoused 
a  widow  in  the  next  village,  and  she  has 
been  a  helpless  cripple  from  rheumatism 
ever  since  their  marriage. 

Cyrus  has  to  toil  from  dawn  until  far 
into  the  night,  tilling  his  few  scanty  acres, 
caring  for  two  cows  and  hens,  peddling 

39 


Cyrus  Emmett :  The  Unlucky  Man 

milk,  and  eggs,  and  vegetables,  nursing 
his  sick  wife,  and  doing  all  the  household 
tasks. 

It  is  a  curious  thing  that  although  Cy- 
rus pays  painfully,  penny  by  penny,  for 
all  his  little  necessaries  of  life,  he  has 
no  credit.  I  doubt  if  a  man  in  the  village 
would  trust  him  with  a  dollar's  worth, 
and  he  is  said  to  purchase  such  infinitesi- 
mal quantities  as  a  dozen  lumps  of  sugar, 
and  two  drawings  of  tea,  and  a  cup  of 
beans,  because  he  has  no  ready  cash  to  pay 
for  more. 

Poor  Cyrus  Emmett  goes  through  the 
village  street,  his  back  bent  with  years  and 
the  hard  burdens  of  life,  but  there  is  still 
the  fire  of  zeal  in  his  eyes,  and  he  is  al- 
ways in  spirit  trying  over  again  that  coast 
down  the  hill,  although  he  always  upsets 
before  he  reaches  the  goal. 

The  boys  call  out,  "  Hallo,  Cy,"  when 
they  meet  him,  and  he  makes  as  if  he  did 
not  hear,  although  they  are,  after  all, 
friendly  enough,  and  intend  no  disrespect. 
It  is  only  that  his  lack  of  progress  in  life 
40 


Cyrus  Emmett :  The  Unlucky  Man 

seems  somehow  to  put  the  old  man  on  a 
level  with  themselves. 

Once  he  stopped  and  said,  half  angrily, 
half  appealing!}',  "Fm  too  old  a  man  for 
you  to  speak  to  me  like  that,  boys."  But 
they  only  laughed  and  hailed  him  in  the 
same  way  when  they  met  again. 

They  say  that  luck  is  always  sure  to  turn 
sooner  or  later.  Perhaps  later  means 
not  in  this  world;  hut  if  poor  Cyrus  Em- 
mett's  luck  does  turn  in  his  lifetime  there 
will  be  great  rejoicing  in  this  village. 


4i 


Phebe  Ann  Little  :  The 
Neat  Woman 


Phebe  Ann  Little  :    The 
Neat  Woman 


Let  anybody  mention  Phebe  Ann  Little 
in  the  neighborhood,  and  some  one  is  sure 
to  immediately  remark,  "  She's  terrible 
neat/' 

It  is  impossible  to  think  even  of  Phebe 
Ann,  to  have  her  image  come  for  an  in- 
stant before  one's  mind,  without  reference 
to  this  especial  characteristic  of  hers.  She 
cannot  be  separated  by  any  mental  pro- 
cess from  her  "terrible  neatness."  It  is  in- 
teresting to  speculate  what  can  become  of 
Phebe  Ann  in  the  hereafter,  where,  as  we 
are  taught  to  believe,  the  contest  against 
moth  and  rust  and  the  general  untidiness 
of  this  earth  is  to  cease.  Can  Phebe  Ann 
exist  at  all  in  a  state  where  neatness  will 
45 


Phebe  Ann  Little 

be  merely  a  negative  quality  with  no  possi- 
bility of  active  exposition?  Will  not  there 
have  to  be  cobwebs  for  Phebe  Ann  to 
sweep  from  the  sky,  if  she  is  to  inhabit  it 
in  any  conscious  state? 

Except  in  meeting,  Phebe  Ann  is  scarce- 
ly ever  seen  by  a  neighbor  without  broom 
and  dusting-cloth  in  hand. 

With  the  first  flicker  of  dawn  light  and 
the  first  cock  crow,  comes  the  flirt  of 
Phebe  Ann's  duster  from  her  window,  the 
flourish  of  her  broom  on  her  front  door- 
step, and  often  far  into  the  evening 
Phebe  Ann's  scrubbing  and  dusting  shad- 
ow is  seen  upon  the  window  curtains.  Peo- 
ple say  that  Phebe  Ann's  husband  often 
has  to  hold  the  lamp  for  her  while  she 
cleans  and  dusts  until  near  midnight.  A 
neighbor  passing  the  open  kitchen  window 
late  one  summer  night,  reported  that  he 
heard  Phebe  Ann  appeal  to  her  husband 
in  something  after  this  fashion:  "  George 
Henr}T,  can  you  remember  whether  I  have 
washed  this  side  of  the  table  or  the  oth- 
er ?  "    There  are  even  stories  current  that 

46 


Phebe  Ann  Little 

her  husband  has  often  to  rise  during  the 
small  hours  of  a  winter  night,  light  a 
lamp,  get  the  broom,  and  sweep  down  the 
cellar  stairs,  or  the  back  door-step,  be- 
cause Phebe  has  awakened  with  a  species 
of  nightmare  of  unperformed  duty  tor- 
menting her.  She  cannot  remember,  in 
her  bewildered  state,  whether  she  has  neg- 
lected the  stairs  and  the  door-step  or  not, 
and  if  she  has,  none  can  say  what  evil 
seems  impending  over  her  and  her  house. 

Once  her  husband,  George  Henry,  who 
at  times  is  afflicted  with  that  species  of 
rheumatism  known  as  a  crick  in  the  back, 
is  reported  to  have  rebelled  at  this  mid- 
night call  to  the  cellar  stairs  and  the 
broom,  and  Phebe  to  have  retorted  with 
tragic  emphasis:  "  Suppose  I  was  to  die 
before  morning,  George  Henry  Little,  and 
those  cellar  stairs  not  swept."  •  And  that 
argument  is  said  to  have  been  too  weighty 
for  George  Henry's  scruples. 

Phebe  Ann  is  also  said  to  send  George 
Henry  searching  with  a  midnight  taper 
for  cobwebs  on  the  ceiling,  which  she  re- 
47 


Phebe  Ann  Little 

members  seeing  and  cannot  remember 
having  brushed  away.  There  is  a  popular 
picture  in  the  village  imagination  of 
George  Henry  Little,  in  the  silent  watches 
of  the  night,  standing  on  a  chair,  a  feath- 
er duster  in  one  hand  and  a  lamp  in  the 
other,  anxiously  scanning  the  ceiling  for 
cobwebs. 

George  Henry  Little,  it  goes  without 
saying,  is  a  meek  and  long-suffering  man. 
If  ever  he  had  spirit  and  the  capability  of 
sustained  rebellion,  Phebe  Ann  must  long 
since  have  scoured  it  away  with  some  kind 
of  spiritual  soap  and  sand.  Indeed,  George 
Henry's  relatives  openly  say  that  he  never 
was  the  same  man  after  he  married  Phebe 
Ann  Fitch,  which  was  his  wife's  maiden 
name.  And  yet  Phebe  Ann  is  such  a  mild- 
looking,  little,  sandy-haired  woman,  with 
strained,  anxious  blue  eyes,  and  small, 
knotty  hands  with  rasped  knuckles,  and 
George  Henry  is  black-whiskered  and 
rather  fierce-visaged  in  comparison.  Phebe 
Ann  taught  school  before  she  was  mar- 
ried, too,  and  George  Henry's  relatives 
48 


Phebe  Ann  Little 

feared  that  she  would  not  make  a  good 
housekeeper,  but  their  fears  upon  that 
head  were  soon  allayed. 

When  George  Henry's  sister,  Mrs.  Ezra 
Wheeler,  went  to  call  at  his  house  for  the 
first  time  after  he  and  Phebe  Ann  were 
married,  she  came  home,  surprised  and  a 
little  alarmed. 

"  It  was  four  o'clock  in  the  afternoon 
when  I  got  there,"  she  tells  the  story, 
"  and  there  was  Phebe  Ann  in  a  calico 
dress  and  gingham  apron  (likely  to  have 
wedding  callers  all  the  time,  too),  scrub- 
bing the  tops  of  the  doors.  They  hadn't 
been  living  in  that  brand-new  house  a 
week  either.  I  don't  see  what  she  found  to 
scrub.  But  there  she  was  hard  at  work 
with  soap  and  sand.  I  said  then  I  guessed 
we  needn't  worry  about  George  Henry's 
not  having  a  good  housekeeper;  I  guessed 
he'd  have  all  the  housekeeping  he  wanted, 
and  more,  too." 

It  is  fortunate  for  George  Henry  that 
he  has  a  reasonably  neat  and  tidy  occupa- 
tion— he  is  Mr.  Harrison  White's  confi- 

49 


Phebe  Ann  Little 

dential  clerk  and  chief  assistant  in  the 
store  and  post-office.  If  he  had  been  em- 
ployed in  the  grist  mill,  or  if  he  had  been 
a  farmer,  Phebe  Ann  might  have  resorted 
to  such  extreme  measures  as  lodging  him 
in  the  woodshed  or  on  the  door-step  in 
mild  weather.  As  it  is  he  seems  to  work 
hard  to  gain  an  entrance  to  his  own  house. 
George  Henry  always  goes  around  to  the 
back  door — it  is  improbable  that  he  has 
ever  crossed  the  threshold  of  his  front 
door  since  his  wedding-day — and  when 
there  he  opens  it  a  crack,  slips  his  hand 
around  the  corner  and  takes  a  pair  of 
slippers  from  a  peg  just  inside.  Then  he 
removes  his  boots,  puts  on  the  slippers  and 
enters.  The  neighbors  are  positive  that 
this  is  his  daily  custom  when  he  returns 
from  the  store.  But  should  the  day  be 
snowy  or  dusty  or  muddy,  then,  indeed, 
George  Henry  Little  has  to  painfully  work 
his  passage  into  his  own  house.  Phebe 
Ann  comes  forth — indeed  she  often  lies 
in  wait — with  the  broom,  and  sometimes, 
it  is  asserted,  with  the  duster,  and  poor 

50 


Phebe  Ann  Little 

George  Henry  is  made  to  undergo  a  puri- 
fication as  rigid  as  if  he  were  about  to  en- 
ter a  heathen  temple. 

It  must  be  a  sore  trial  to  Thebe  Ann  to 
admit  any  one  without  the  performance  of 
these  cleansing  rites;  but  she  has  to  sub- 
mit in  other  cases.  She  cannot  make  the 
minister  take  oil  his  boots  and  put  on 
slippers  before  entering,  neither  can  she 
make  such  conditions  with  the  neighbors. 
She  has  always  a  little  corn-husk  mat  on 
the  door-step,  and  there  we  stand  and 
carefully  scrape  and  scrape,  while  she 
watches  with  ill-concealed  anxiety,  and 
then  we  walk  in,  although  we  feel  guilty. 
In  very  muddy  weather  we  always,  of 
course,  remove  our  rubbers  and  all  our 
outer  garments  which  have  become  damp; 
but  otherwise  our  shoes,  which  have  been 
contaminated  by  the  dust  of  the  street, 
come  boldly  in  contact  with  Phebe  Ann's 
immaculate  carpets. 

But  she  has  her  revenge. 

ISTot  a  neighbor  goes  in  to  spend  a  friend- 
ly hour  with  Phebe  Ann,  who  does  not  see, 

5* 


Phebe  Ann  Little 

after  her  return,  if  she  lives  within  seeing 
distance — and  if  she  does  not  it  is  faithful- 
ly reported  to  her — her  late  hostess  fling 
windows  and  doors  wide  open,  and  ply 
frantically  broom  and  duster,  and  she 
wonders  uneasily  how  much  dirt  and  dust 
she  could  possibly  have  tracked  into  Phebe 
Ann's. 

But  the  neighbors  have  double  cause  for 
solicitude  so  far  as  an  imputation  upon 
their  own  neatness  is  concerned,  for  Phebe 
Ann  never  herself  returns  from  a  neigh- 
borly call,  that  she  does  not,  it  is  vouched 
for  by  competent  witnesses,  hang  all  the 
garments  which  accompanied  her  upon 
the  clothes-line  to  air.  Miss  Lurinda  Snell 
declares  that  she  turns  even  the  sleeves 
wrong  side  out  and  brushes  them  vigorous- 
ly— that  she  has  seen  her. 

We  all  admit,  with  perhaps  some  prick- 
ings of  conscience  in  our  own  cases,  that 
Phebe  Ann  Little  is  a  notable  housekeep- 
er. Her  window-panes  flash  like  diamonds 
in  the  setting  sun.  There  is  no  dust  on 
her  window-blinds;  one  could  sit  in  one's 

52 


Phebe  Ann  Little 

Lest  silk  dress  on  her  door-step;  one  could, 
if  there  were  any  occasion  for  so  doing, 
eat  one's  meals  off  her  shed  floor  or  her 
cellar  stairs.  There  is  no  speck  of  dirt,  no 
thread  of  disorder  in  all  Phehe  Ann's 
house,  nor  upon  her  person,  nor  upon  any- 
thing which  helongs  to  her.  She  is  cer- 
tainly a  housekeeper  whose  equal  is  not 
among  us,  and  we  all  give  her  due  admira- 
tion and  respect. 

She  is  a  credit  to  our  village,  and  yet  it 
is  possihle  that  one  such  credit  is  suffi- 
cient. If  there  were  another  like  her  the 
Tillage  might  become  so  clean  that  we 
should  all  have  to  take  to  the  fields  and 
survey  its  beautiful  tidiness  over  pasture- 
bars. 


53 


Amanda  Todd :   The 
Friend  of  Cats 


Amanda  Todd  :    The 
Friend  of  Cats 

Amanda  Todd's  orbit  of  existence  is  re- 
stricted of  a  necessity,  since  she  was  born, 
brought  up  and  will  die  in  this  village, 
but  there  is  no  doubt  that  it  is  eccentric. 
She  moves  apart  on  her  own  little  course 
quite  separate  from  the  rest  of  us.  Had 
Amanda's  lines  of  life  been  cast  elsewhere, 
had  circumstances  pushed  her,  instead  of 
hemming  her  in,  she  might  have  become 
the  feminine  apostle  of  a  new  creed,  have 
founded  a  sect,  or  instituted  a  new  sys- 
tem of  female  dress.  As  it  is,  she  does 
f  not  go  to  meeting,  she  never  wears  a  bon- 
net, and  she  keeps  cats. 

Amanda  Todd  is  rising  sixty,  and  she 
never  was  married.  Had  she  been,  the  close 
friction  with  another  nature  might  have 

57 


Amanda  Todd  :  The  Friend  of  Cats 

worn  away  some  of  the  peculiarities  of 
hers.  She  might  have  gone  to  meeting, 
she  might  have  worn  a  bonnet,  she  might 
even  have  eschewed  cats,  but  it  is  not 
probable.  When  peculiarities  are  in  the 
grain  of  a  person's  nature,  as  they  proba- 
bly are  in  hers,  such  friction  only  brings 
them  out  more  plainly  and  it  is  the  other 
person  who  suffers. 

The  village  men  are  not,  as  a  rule,  very 
subtle,  but  they  have  seemed  to  feel  this 
instinctively.  Amanda  was,  they  say,  a 
very  pretty  girl  in  her  youth,  but  no  young 
man  ever  dared  make  love  to  her  and  mar- 
ry her.  She  had  always  the  reputation  of 
being  u  an  odd  stick,"  even  in  the  district 
school.  She  always  kept  by  herself  at  re- 
cess, she  never  seemed  to  have  anything  in 
common  with  the  other  girls,  and  she 
always  went  home  alone  from  singing 
school.  Probably  never  in  her  whole  life 
has  Amanda  Todd  known  what  it  is  to  be 
protected  by  some  devoted  person  of  the 
other  sex  through  the  nightly  perils  of 
our  village  street. 

58 


Amanda  Todd  :  The  Friend  of  Cats 

There  is  a  tradition  in  the  village  that 
once  in  her  life,  when  she  was  about  twen- 
ty-five years  old,  Amanda  Todd  had  a 
beautiful  bonnet  and  went  to  meeting. 

Old  Mrs.  Xathan  Morse  vouches  for  the 
reliability  of  it,  and,  moreover,  she  hints 
at  a  reason.  "  When  Mandy,  she  was  'bout 
twenty-five  years  old,"  she  says,  "  George 
Henry  French,  he  come  to  town,  and 
taught  the  district  school,  and  he  see 
Mandy,  an'  told  Almira  Benton  that  he 
thought  she  was  about  the  prettiest  girl  he 
ever  laid  eyes  on,  and  Almiry  she  told 
Mandy.  That  was  all  there  ever  was  to  it, 
he  never  waited  on  her,  never  spoke  to  her, 
fur's  I  know,  but  right  after  that,  Mandy, 
she  had  a  bunnit,  and  she  went  reg'lar  to 
meetin'.  'Fore  that  her  mother  could 
scarcely  get  her  to  keep  a  thing  on  her 
head  out-of-doors — allers  carried  her  sun- 
bunnit  a-danglin'  by  the  strings,  wonder 
she  wa'n't  sunstruck  a  million  times — and 
as  for  goin'  to  meetin',  her  mother,  she 
talked  and  talked,  but  it  didn't  do  a  mite 
of  good.    I  s'pose  her  father  kind  of  up- 

59 


Amanda  Todd  :  The  Friend  of  Cats 

held  her  in  it.  He  was  'most  as  odd  as 
Mandy.  He  wouldn't  go  to  meetin'  un- 
less he  was  driv,  and  he  waVt  a  mem- 
ber. 'Nough  sight  ruther  go  out  prowlin' 
round  in  the  woods  like  a  wild  animal, 
Sabbath  days,  than  go  to  meetin'.  Once 
he  ketched  a  wildcat,  an'  tried  to  tame  it, 
but  he  couldn't.  It  bit  and  clawed  so  he 
had  to  let  it  go.  I  guess  Mandy  gets  her 
likin'  for  cats  from  him  fast  enough.  Well, 
Mandy,  she  had  that  handsome  bunnit, 
an' she  went  to  meetin'  reg'lar'most  a  year, 
and  she  looked  as  pretty  as  a  picture,  sit- 
tin'  in  the  pew.  The  bunnit  was  trimmed 
with  green  gauze  ribbon  and  had  a  wreath 
of  fine  pink  flowers  inside.  Her  mother 
was  real  tickled,  thought  Mandy  had  met 
with  a  change.  But  land,  it  didn't  last 
no  time.  George  Henry  French,  he  quit 
town  the  next  year  and  went  to  Somerset 
to  teach,  and  pretty  soon  we  heard  he  hed 
married  a  girl  over  there.  Then  Mandy, 
she  didn't  come  to  meetin'  any  more.  I 
dunno  what  she  did  with  the  bunnit — ■ 
stamped  on  it,  most  likely,  she  always  had 
60 


Amanda  Todd  :  The  Friend  of  Cats 

considerable  temper — anyway  I  never  see 
her  wear  it  arterwards." 

Thus  old  Mrs.  Nathan  Morse  tells  the 
story,  and  somehow  to  a  reflective  mind 
the  picture  of  Amanda  Todd  in  her  youth, 
decked  in  her  pink-wreathed  bonnet,  self- 
ishly but  innocently  attending  in  the  sanc- 
tuary of  Divine  Love  in  order  to  lay  hands 
on  her  own  little  share  of  earthly  affec- 
tion, is  inseparable  from  her,  as  she  goes 
now,  old  and  bare-headed,  defiantly  past 
the  meeting-house,  when  the  Sabbath 
bells  are  ringing. 

However,  if  Amanda  Todd  had  elected 
to  go  bareheaded  through  the  village 
street  from  feminine  vanity,  rather  than 
eccentricity,  it  would  have  been  no  won- 
der. Not  a  young  girl  in  the  village  has 
such  a  head  of  hair  as  Amanda.  It  is  of 
a  beautiful  chestnut  color,  and  there  is  not 
a  gray  thread  in  it.  It  is  full  of  wonder- 
ful natural  ripples,  too — not  one  of  the 
village  girls  can  equal  them  with  her  pa- 
pers and  crimping-pins — and  Amanda  ar- 
ranges it  in  two  superb  braids  wound  twice 

6! 


Amanda  Todd  :  The  Friend  of  Cats 

-around  her  head.  Seen  from  behind, 
Amanda's  head  is  that  of  a  young  beauty; 
when  she  turns  a  little,  and  her  harsh  old 
profile  becomes  visible,  there  is  a  shock 
to  a  stranger. 

Amanda's  father  had  a  great  shock  of 
chestnut  hair  which  was  seldom  cut,  and 
she  inherits  this  adornment  from  him.  Ha 
lived  to  be  an  old  man,  but  that  ruddy 
crown  of  his  never  turned  gray. 

Amanda's  mother  died  long  ago;  then 
her  father.  Ever  since  she  has  lived  alone 
in  her  shingled  cottage  with  her  cats. 
There  were  not  so  many  cats  at  first;  they 
say  she  started  with  one  fine  tabby  which 
became  the  mother,  grandmother  and 
great-grandmother  to  armies  of  kittens. 

Amanda  must  destroy  some  when  she 
can  find  no  homes  for  them,  otherwise  she 
herself  would  be  driven  afield,  but  still 
the  impression  is  of  a  legion. 

A  cat  is  so  covert,  it  slinks  so  secretly 

from  one  abiding  place  to  another,  and 

seems  to  duplicate  itself  with  its  sudden 

appearances,  that  it  may  account   in   a 

62 


Amanda  Todd  :  The  Friend  of  Cats 

measure  for  this  impression.  Still  there 
are  a  great  many.  Nobody  knows  just 
the  number — the  estimate  runs  anywhere 
from  fifteen  to  fifty.  Counting,  or  trying 
to  count,  Amanda  Todd's  cats  is  a  favor- 
ite amusement  of  the  village  children. 
"  Here's  another,"  they  shout,  when  a  pair 
of  green  eyes  gleams  at  them  from  a  post. 
But  is  it  another  or  only  the  same  cat  who 
has  moved?  Cats  sit  in  Amanda's  win- 
dows; they  stare  out  wisely  at  the  passers- 
by  from  behind  the  panes,  or  they  fold 
their  paws  on  the  ledge  outside  in  the 
sunshine.  Cats  walk  Amanda's  ridge-pole 
and  her  fence,  they  perch  on  her  posts  and 
fly  to  her  cherry  trees  with  bristling  fur 
at  the  sight  of  a  dog.  Amanda  has  as 
deadly  a  hatred  of  dogs  as  have  her  cats. 
Every  one  which  comes  within  stone- 
throw  of  her  she  sends  off  yelping,  for  she 
is  a  good  shot.  Kittens  tumble  about 
Amanda's  yard,  and  crawl  out  between  her 
fence-pickets  under  people's  feet.  Aman- 
da will  never  give  away  a  kitten  except  to 
a  responsible  person,  and  is  as  particular 

63 


Amanda  Todd  :  The  Friend  of  Cats 

as  if  the  kitten  were  a  human  orphan  and 
she  the  manager  of  an  asylum. 

She  will  never,  for  any  consideration, 
bestow  one  of  her  kittens  upon  a  family 
which  keeps  a  dog  or  where  there  are 
many  small  children.  Once  she  made  a 
condition  that  the  dog  should  be  killed, 
and  she  may  be  at  times  inwardly  dis- 
posed to  banish  the  children. 

x\manda  Todd  is  extremely  persistent 
when  she  has  selected  a  home  which  is  per- 
fectly satisfactory  to  her  for  a  kitten.  Once 
one  was  found  tied  into  a  little  basket 
like  a  baby  on  the  door-step  of  a  childless 
and  humane  couple  who  kept  no  dog,  and 
there  is  a  story  that  Deacon  Nehemiah. 
Stockwell  found  one  in  his  overcoat  pock- 
et and  never  knew  how  it  came  there.  It 
is  probable  that  Amanda  resorts  to  these 
extreme  measures  to  save  herself  from 
either  destroying  her  kittens  or  being 
driven  out  of  house  and  home  by  them. 

However,  once,  when  the  case  was  re- 
versed, Amanda  herself  was  found  want- 
ing. When  she  began  to  grow  old,  and 
64 


Amanda  Todd  :  The  Friend  of  Cats 

the  care  of  her  pets  told  upon  her,  it 
occurred  to  her  that  she  might  adopt  a 
little  girl.  Amanda  has  a  comfortable 
income,  and  would  have  been  able  to  pro- 
vide a  good  living  for  a  child  as  far  as  that 
goes. 

But  the  managers  of  the  institution  to 
whom  Amanda  applied  made  inquiries, 
and  the  result  did  not  satisfy  them.  Aman- 
da stated  frankly  her  reason  for  wishing 
to  take  the  child  and  her  intentions  with 
regard  to  her.  She  wished  the  little  girl 
to  tend  her  cats  and  assist  her  in  caring 
for  them.  She  was  willing  that  she  should 
attend  school  four  hours  per  day,  going  af- 
ter the  cats  had  their  breakfast,  and  re- 
turning an  hour  earlier  to  give  them  their 
supper.  She  was  willing  that  she  should 
go  to  meeting  in  the  afternoon  only,  and 
she  could  have  no  other  children  come  to 
visit  her  for  fear  they  would  maltreat  the 
kittens.  She  furthermore  announced  her 
intention  to  make  her  will,  giving  to  the 
girl  whom  she  should  adopt  her  entire 
property  in  trust  for  the  cats,  to  include 
6S 


Amanda  Todd :  The  Friend  of  Cats 

lier  own  maintenance  on  condition  that 
she  devote  her  life  to  them  as  she  had 
done. 

The  trustees  declared  that  they  could 
not  conscientiously  commit  a  child  to  her 
keeping  for  such  purposes,  and  the  poor 
little  girl  orphan  who  had  the  chance  of 
devoting  her  life  to  the  care  of  pussy  cats 
and  kittens  to  the  exclusion  of  all  child- 
ish followers,  remained  in  her  asylum. 

So  Amanda  to  this  day  lives  alone,  and 
manages  as  hest  she  can.  Nobody  in  the 
village  can  be  induced  to  live  with  her; 
one  forlorn  old  soul  preferred  the  alms- 
house. 

"  I'd  'nough  sight  ruther  go  on  the 
town  than  live  with  all  them  cats,"  she 
said. 

It  is  rather  unfortunate  that  Amanda's 
shingled  cottage  is  next  the  meeting- 
house, for  that,  somehow,  seems  to  ren- 
der her  non-church-going  more  glaringly 
conspicuous,  and  then,  too,  there  is  a  lia- 
bility of  indecorous  proceedings  on  the 
part  of  the  cats. 

66 


Amanda  Todd:  The  Friend  of  Cats 

They  evidently  do  not  share  their  mis- 
tress' dislike  of  the  sanctuary,  and  find  its 
soft  pew  cushions  very  inviting.  They 
watch  their  chances  to  slink  in  when  the 
sexton  opens  the  meeting-house;  he  is  an 
old  man  and  dim-eyed,  and  they  are  often 
successful.  It  is  wise  for  anybody  before 
taking  a  seat  in  a  pew  to  make  sure  that 
one  of  Amanda's  cats  has  not  forestalled 
him;  and  often  a  cat  flees  down  one  flight 
of  the  pulpit  stairs  as  the  minister  ascends 
the  oilier. 

We  all  wonder  what  will  become  of 
Amanda's  cats  when  she  dies.  There  is 
a  report  that  she  has  made  her  will  and 
left  her  property  in  trust  for  the  cats  to 
somebody;  but  to  whom?  Nobody  in  this 
village  is  anxious  for  such  a  bequest,  and 
whoever  it  may  be  will  probably  strive  to 
repudiate  it.  Some  day  the  cats  will  un- 
doubtedly go  by  the  board;  young  Henry 
^Yilson,  who  has  a  gun,  will  shoot  some, 
the  rest  will  become  aliens  and  wanderers, 
but  we  all  hope  Amanda  Todd  will  never 
know  it. 

67 


Amanda  Todd  :  The  Friend  of  Cats 

In  the  meantime  she  is  undoubtedly 
carrying  on  among  us  an  eccentric,  but 
none  the  less  genuine  mission.  A  home 
missionary  is  Amanda  Todd,  and  we 
should  recognize  her  as  such  in  spite  of 
her  non-church-going  proclivities.  Weak 
in  faith  though  she  may  be,  she  is,  per- 
chance, as  strong  in  love  as  the  best  of 
us.  At  least  I  do  not  doubt  that  her  poor 
little  four-footed  dependents  would  so  give 
evidence  if  they  could  speak. 


68 


Lydia  Wheelock:  The 
Good  Woman 


Lydia  Wheelock  :    The 
Good  Woman 


We  all  agree  that  Lydia  Wheelock  is 
yery  plain-looking,  but  that  she  is  very 
good.  She  was  never  handsome,  even  as 
a  girl.  She  never  had  any  youthful  bloom, 
and  her  figure  was  always  as  clumsy  and 
awkward  as  it  is  now.  Poor  Lydia,  with 
her  round  shoulders  and  her  high  hips, 
always  moved  heavily  among  the  light- 
tripping  maids  of  her  own  age.  Seen  from 
behind,  her  broad,  matronly  back  made 
her  look  old  enough  to  be  the  mother  of 
them  all.  Bright  and  delicate  girlish  rib- 
bons and  muslins,  which  set  off  their  hap- 
py, youthful,  flower-like  faces,  made  poor 
Lydia's  dull,  thick  cheeks  look  duller,  and 
thicker,  and  heavier. 

Some  women  as  plain-visaged  as  Lydia, 
7i 


Lydia  Wheelock 

seeing  themselves,  as  it  were,  like  dingy- 
barnyard  fowls  among  flocks  of  splendid 
snowy  doves  and  humming-birds,  might 
have  deliberately  tried  to  cultivate  loving 
kindness  and  sweet  obligingness  of  man- 
ner as  an  offset.  But  Lydia  was  not  bril- 
liant enough  for  that,  neither  had  she 
much  personal  ambition.  It  is  doubtful  if 
she  has  ever  looked  in  the  glass  much,  ex- 
cept to  ascertain  if  her  face  was  clean  and 
her  hair  smooth,  and  if  her  lack  of  comeli- 
ness ever  cost  her  an  anxious  hour. 

Besides,  Lydia's  goodness,  contrary  to 
the  orthodox  tenets,  really  seems  to  be  the 
result  of  nature,  and  nothing  which  she 
has  acquired  at  any  known  period  since 
her  advent  upon  this  earth.  Nobody  can 
remember  when  Lydia  was  not  just  as 
good  and  devout  as  she  is  now:  just  as 
faithful  in  her  ministrations  to  the  af- 
flicted and  needy,  just  as  constant  at  meet- 
ing, just  as  patient  under  her  own  trials. 

As  a  child  at  school  Lydia  never  whis- 
pered, was  never  tardy,  seldom  failed  in 
her  lessons,  and  never  teased  away  anoth- 
72 


Lydia  Wheelock 

er  little  girl's  candy.  Besides,  her  mother 
always  vouched  for  the  fact  that  she  was 
good  as  a  young  and  tender  infant,  and 
consequently  seemed  to  have  been  actual- 
ly born  good. 

"Lyddy  never  cried  except  when  she  was 
real  sick/"  her  mother  used  to  say.  (She 
lived  to  be  a  very  old  woman,  and  harped 
upon  her  good  daughter  as  if  she  were  the 
favorite  string  of  her  whole  life.)  "  Never 
knowed  her  cry  because  she  was  mad,  as 
the  other  children  did.  Lyddy  allers  took 
her  nap  regular  an'  slept  all  night  without 
fussin'.  An'  she  never  banged  her  head 
on  the  floor  'cause  she  couldn't  have  her 
own  way.  She  allers  give  in  real  pleas- 
ant and  smilin\" 

What  was  true  of  Lydia  as  a  baby  has 
undoubtedly  been  true  of  her  ever  since 
— she  has  "  allers  give  in  real  pleasant  on' 
smilinV  There  may  be  some  people  who 
would  urge  the  plea  that  Lydia  has  an 
easy  temperament,  and  not  naturally  such 
a  firm  clutch  upon  her  desires  that  it  is 
agony  to  relinquish  them.    But  if  all  the 

73 


Lydia  Wheelock 

ways  that  Lydia  has  patiently  and  smiling- 
ly accepted  have  been  her  own  ways,  she 
must,  even  if  her  temperament  had  been 
ever  so  stolid,  have  had  peculiar  tastes 
and  likings.  Sometimes  it  would  have 
been  almost  like  a  relish  for  the  scalping- 
knife  or  the  branding-iron.  If  Lydia  has 
not,  metaphorically  speaking,  many  times 
during  her  life  banged  her  head  upon  the 
floor,  it  has  not  been  from  lack  of  proper 
temptation.  She  has  had  from  any  hu- 
man standpoint  a  hard  life.  Her  father 
died  when  she  was  a  young  girl.  She  had 
to  leave  school  and  go  about  helping  the 
neighbors  with  sewing  and  cleaning  and 
extra  household  tasks  when  they  had  com- 
pany, to  earn  a  pittance  for  the  support 
of  herself  and  her  mother.  Lydia's  moth- 
er, although  she  lived  to  be  so  old,  was 
always  a  feeble  woman,  crippled  with 
rheumatism. 

Lydia  lived  patiently  and  laboriously, 
earning  just  enough  to  keep  her  mother 
comfortably  and  herself  uncomfortably 
alive,  and  that  was  all.    She  had  one  good 

74 


Lydia  Wheeiock 

meal  a  day  when  she  was  working  at  a 
neighbor's.  Often  we  know  that  was  all 
she  had,  although  she  never  said  so  and 
never  complained. 

Lydia's  shawl  was  always  too  thin  for 
winter  wear,  and  we  felt  that  we  ought  to 
avoid  looking  at  her  poor  bonnets  in  order 
not  to  hurt  her  feelings.  Every  cent  that 
Lydia  earned,  beyond  what  she  spent  for 
the  barest  necessaries,  went  for  her  moth- 
ers comfort. 

Her  mother  was  never  without  her  three 
meals  a  day  and  her  warm  flannels,  when 
the  dread  of  Lydia's  life  was  that  she 
might  faint  away  some  day  at  a  neighbor's 
from  lack  of  proper  nourishment,  and  the 
state  of  her  attire  in  midwinter  be  dis- 
covered. She  confessed  her  great  dread 
to  somebody  once,  after  she  was  married. 

When  Lydia  was  about  thirty  she  sud- 
denly got  married,  to  the  surprise  of  the 
whole  village.  Xobody  had  dreamed  she 
would  ever  marry.  She  was  so  plain  and 
so  poor,  and  seemed  years  older  than  she 
was — old   enough  to  be   her  own   grand- 

75 


Lydia  Wheelock 

mother,  as  Mrs.  Harrison  White  said.  She 
married  a  man  who  had  paid  some  atten- 
tion to  Mrs.  Harrison  White  when  she  waa 
a  girl,  and  she  was  popularly  supposed  to 
favor  him,  hut  her  parents  objected,  so 
she  married  Harrison  White  instead. 

Elisha  Wheelock,  the  man  Lydia  mar- 
ried, all  the  neighbors  had  called  "  a  poor 
tool."  He  was  good-looking  and  good- 
hearted,  but  seemed  to  have  little  ambi- 
tion and  no  taste  for  industry.  Moreover, 
everybody  said  he  drank.  Lurinda  Snell 
said  she  had  seen  him  when  he  could 
scarcely  walk,  and  many  others  agreed  with 
her.  Although  the  village  was  surprised, 
the  village  gave  a  sort  of  negative  approval 
of  the  banns.  Everybody  agreed  that  a  man 
like  Elisha  Wheelock  couldn't  hope  to  do 
any  better.  No  pretty  girl  with  a  good 
home  would  forsake  it  for  him,  and  as  for 
Lydia,  it  was  probably  her  first  and  only 
chance,  and  she  could  never  hope  to  do 
any  better  either.  Moreover,  Elisha  owned 
a  comfortable  house — his  father  had  just 
died  and  left  it  to  him,  with  quite  a  good- 

76 


Lydia  Wheelock 

sized  farm;  and  it  was  said  positively  that 
Lydia's  mother  was  to  live  there.  "Lydia's 
got  a  good  home  for  herself  and  her  moth- 
er if  'Lisha  don't  drink  it  up,"  people  said. 
Some  thought  he  would.  Everybody 
Matched  to  see  the  old  homestead  and 
the  fertile  acres  transformed  into  fiery 
draughts  going  down  Elisha's  throat,  but 
they  never  did. 

Lydia  has  had  her  way  in  one  respect, 
if  not  in  others,  and  that  one  may  suffice 
for  much.  She  has  certainly  had  her  way 
with  Elisha  Wheelock  and  made  a  man  of 
him.  Not  a  drop  has  he  drunk,  so  far  as 
people  know — and  all  the  neighbors  have 
watched — in  all  the  years  since  he  mar- 
ried Lydia.  He  has  worked  steadily  on 
his  farm,  he  does  not  owe  a  dollar,  and  he 
is  said  to  have  a  nice  little  sum  in  the 
savings  bank.  Moreover,  he  is  a  deacon 
of  the  church,  and  on  the  school  commit- 
tee. 

Some  of  the  neighbors  say  openly  that 
Elisha  would  never  have  been  deacon  if  it 
had  not  been  for  his  wife;  that  Lydia 
77 


Lydia  Wheelock 

ought  to  have  been  deacon,  and  since  she 
could  not,  because  she  was  a  woman,  they 
made  her  one  by  proxy  through  her  hus- 
band. Elisha  is  a  good  deacon — a  very 
good  deacon,  indeed — and  he  has  Lydia  to 
fully  and  carefully  advise  him. 

Lydia  has  never  had  any  children,  but 
she  always  had  a  large  family.  She  be- 
gan with  her  own  mother  and  her  hus- 
band's mother,  and  a  little  orphan  second 
cousin  of  her  husband's  who  had  lived 
with  the  Wheelocks  since  her  parents  died. 
Her  own  mother,  as  I  said  before,  was  very 
feeble  and  a  deal  of  care;  her  husband's 
mother  had  a  jealous,  irritable  disposition 
and  was  very  difficult  to  live  with;  the 
orphan  cousin  was  delicate,  had  the  rick- 
ets, and,  people  said,  none  too  clear  a 
mind.  Lydia  kept  no  servant,  and  she 
had  to  work  hard  to  keep  her  house  in  or- 
der, sew  and  mend,  build  up  her  husband's 
character,  and  reconcile  all  the  opposite 
dispositions  and  requirements  of  her  fam- 
ily. She  has  had  to  delve  in  a  spiritual  as 
well  as  temporal  field,  and  employ  heart 
78 


Lydia  Wheelock 

and  soul  and  hands  at  the  same  time  ever 
since  she  was  married.  After  her  mother 
died  an  old  aunt  of  Elisha's,  who  would 
otherwise  have  had  to  go  upon  the  town, 
came  to  live  with  them.  She  is  stone- 
deaf  and  has  a  curiously  inquiring  mind, 
hut  it  is  said  that  Lydia  never  loses  her 
patience  and  never  wearies  of  shouting  the 
most  useless  information  into  her  strain- 
ing ears. 

It  was  accounted  somewhat  fortunate 
that  Elisha's  mother  did  not  live  long  af- 
ter Aunt  Inez  appeared,  for  it  would  have 
been,  not  too  great  a  strain  upon  Lydia's 
patience — nobody  doubts  the  long-sutTer- 
ing  of  that — but  for  her  strength,  to  rec- 
oncile two  such  characters  and  keep  the 
peace  for  any  length  of  time.  However, 
Elisha's  mother  had  not  been  dead  long 
before  a  sister  of  the  rickety  orphan  cou- 
sin, who  grows  more  and  more  of  a  charge 
as  the  years  go  on,  lost  her  husband  and 
came  to  live  at  the  Wheelock  place  with  her 
four  children.  They  said  she  would  be  a 
great  help  to  Lydia,  but  she  is  a  pretty 
79 


Lydia  Wheelock 

young  thing,  in  spite  of  her  four  children; 
she  is  a  good  singer,  and  she  is  constant  at 
all  the  sociables  and  singing-schools,  and 
does  a  deal  of  fancy-work,  and  the  neigh- 
bors think  Lydia  has  to  take  nearly  all  the 
care  of  the  children.  They  also  think  that 
the  young  widow  is  setting  her  cap  here 
and  there,  and  hope  she  may  marry  and 
so  relieve  poor  Lydia  of  herself  and  her 
children.  But,  after  all,  it  would  be  only  a 
temporary  relief.  Some  other  widow,  or 
orphan,  or  aged  and  infirm  aunt,  would 
descend  upon  her,  for  it  is  well  known 
that  it  is  Lydia  who  aids  and  abets  her 
husband  in  his  charity  toward  his  needy 
relations.  And,  moreover,  it  is  told  how 
she  lets  the  children  and  the  additional 
expense  be  as  small  a  source  of  worry  to 
him  as  possible.  Some  of  the  neighbors 
think  that  if  Lydia  Wheelock  stints  herself 
much  more,  to  provide  for  widows  and 
orphans,  she  cannot  go  to  meeting  for  lack 
of  simply  decent  covering.  Lurinda  Snell 
is  positive  that  she  keeps  her  shawl  on  in 
hot  weather  to  cover  up  her  sleeves,  which 
80 


Lvdia  Wheelock 

are  past  mending  in  any  decorous  fashion, 
and  simply  make  a  show  of  their  innum- 
erable and  not  very  harmonious  patches. 
And  as  for  her  bonnets,  it  is  actually  an 
insult  to  look  attentively  at  them. 

Poor  Lydia  has  not  had  a  new  carpet 
in  her  sitting-room  since  she  was  married. 
The  one  Elisha's  mother  had  was  old  then, 
and  long  ago  went  to  the  rag-man.  Ever 
since  she  has  lived  on  the  bare  boards.  It 
is  a  dreadful  thing  in  this  village  not  to 
have  a  carpet  in  the  sitting-room.  The 
neighbors  never  get  over  being  shocked  at 
the  loud  taps  of  their  shoes  on  the  hard 
boards  when  they  enter  Lydia's.  She  had 
a  rag  carpet  almost  done,  they  say,  when 
Lottie  Green  and  her  children  came;  since 
then  she  has  had  no  time  nor  opportunity 
to  finish  it. 

But  everybody  knew  that  if  Lydia  and 
Ehsha  did  not  do  so  much  for  other  peo- 
ple she  could  have  a  tapestry  carpet  in  her 
fitting-room,  and  a  black  silk  dreSvS  every 
year.  She  sees  to  it,  however,  that  Elisha 
is  not  stinted  to  his  discomfort.  He  has 
81 


Lydia  Wheelock 

his  nice  Sunday  clothes  and  looks  as  well 
as  any  man  in  the  whole  village. 

Lydia  is  a  good  cook,  and  is  said  to  sim- 
ply pamper  her  husband's  appetite,  and 
take  more  pains  to  do  so  the  more  she  has 
in  her  family.  We  are  all  very  sure  that 
Lydia  never  neglects  her  husband  for  his 
needy  relations,  nor  relaxes  for  an  instant 
her  watchful  eye  upon  his  spiritual  and 
temporal  needs.  Miss  Lurinda  Snell  de- 
clares that  she  has  built  up  a  fire  in  the 
north  parlor  every  evening  this  winter 
that  Elisha  may  sit  in  there  and  read  his 
paper,  and  not  be  annoyed  by  Lottie 
Green's  children.  They  are  very  noisy, 
boisterous  children. 

Lydia  Wheelock,  busy  as  she  is  with  her 
own,  and  the  needs  of  her  own,  tried  as 
her  strength  must  be  by  her  own  house- 
hold cares,  does  not  confine  her  ministra- 
tions to  them.  If  a  neighbor  is  ill  Lydia 
is  always  ready  to  watch  with  her,  and  a 
most  invaluable  nurse  she  is.  Not  a  neigh- 
bor but  would  rather  have  Lydia  than  any- 
body else  over  her  when  she  is  ill. 
82 


Lydia  Wheelock. 

Absolutely  untiring  is  Lydia  when  min- 
istering to  the  sick,  tender  as  if  the  suf- 
ferer were  her  own  child,  and  yet  so  firm 
and  wise  that  one  can  feel  her  almost 
sufficient  of  herself  to  pull  one  back  to 
health. 

Lydia  is  always  in  the  house  of  mourn- 
ing; people  claim  her  sympathy  as  if  it 
were  their  right,  and  she  seems  to  recog- 
nize her  obligation  toward  all  suffering 
without  a  question.  She  is  also  always 
ready  with  her  aid  on  occasions  of  re- 
joicings, at  wedding  feasts,  as  well  as  fu- 
nerals. She  comes  to  the  front  with  her 
kindly  sympathy  when  the  exigencies  of 
human  life  arise. 

We  look  across  the  meeting-house  on  a 
Sunday  and  see  Lydia  sitting  listening  to 
the  sermon,  her  plain  face  uplifted  with 
the  expression  of  a  saint,  under  that  bon- 
net which  we  avoid  glancing  at  for  love  of 
her,  and  our  hearts  are  full  of  gratitude 
for  this  good  woman  in  our  village. 


83 


A  Quilting  Bee  in   Our 
Village 


A  Quilting  Bee  in  Our 
Village 


One  sometimes  wonders  whether  it  will 
ever  be  possible  in  our  village  to  attain 
absolute  rest  and  completion  with  regard 
to  quilts.  One  thinks  after  a  week  fairly 
swarming  with  quilting  bees,  "  Now  every 
housewife  in  the  place  must  be  well  sup- 
plied; there  will  be  no  need  to  make  more 
quilts  for  six  months  at  least.''  Then,  the 
next  morning  a  nice  little  becurled  girl  in 
a  clean  pinafore  knocks  at  the  door  and 
repeats  demurely  her  well-conned  lesson: 
"  Mother  sends  her  compliments,  and 
would  be  happy  to  have  you  come  to  her 
quilting  bee  this  afternoon." 

One  also  wonders  if  quilts,  like  flow- 
ers, have  their  seasons  of  fuller  produc- 

87 


A  Quilting  Bee  in  Our  Village 

tion.  On  general  principles  it  seems  as  if 
the  winter  might  be  more  favorable  to 
their  gay  complexities  of  bloom.  In  the 
winter  there  are  longer  evenings  for  mer- 
riment after  the  task  of  needlework  is  fin- 
ished and  the  young  men  arrive;  there  are 
better  opportunities  for  roasted  apples, 
and  chestnuts  and  flip,  also  for  social 
games.  It  is  easier,  too,  as  well  as  pleas- 
anter,  to  slip  over  the  long  miles  between 
some  of  our  farmhouses  in  a  sleigh  if  it 
is  only  a  lover  and  his  lass,  or  a  wood-sled 
if  a  party  of  neighbors  or  a  whole  family. 

However,  so  many  of  our  young  women 
become  betrothed  in  the  spring,  and  wed- 
ded in  the  autumn,  that  the  bees  flourish 
in  the  hottest  afternoons  and  evenings  of 
midsummer. 

For  instance,  Brama  Lincoln  White  was 
engaged  to  "William  French,  from  Somer- 
set, George  Henry  French's  son,  the  first 
Sunday  in  July,  and  the  very  next  week 
her  mother,  Mrs.  Harrison  White,  sent  out 
invitations  to  a  quilting  bee. 

The  heat  during  all  that  week  was 
88 


A  Quilting  Bee  in  Our  Village 

something  to  be  remembered.  It  was  so 
warm  that  only  the  very  youngest  and 
giddiest  of  the  village  people  went  to  the 
Fourth  of  July  picnic.  Cyrus  Emmett 
had  a  sunstroke  out  in  the  hayfield,  and 
Mrs.  Deacon  Stockwell's  mother,  who  was 
over  ninety,  was  overcome  by  the  heat  and 
died.  Mrs.  Stoekwell  could  not  go  to  the 
quilting,  because  her  mother  was  buried 
the  day  before.  It  was  a  misfortune  to 
Mrs.  White  and  Brama  Lincoln,  for  Mrs. 
Stoekwell  is  one  of  the  fastest  quilters  who 
ever  lived,  but  it  was  no  especial  depriva- 
tion to  Mrs.  Stoekwell.  Hardly  any  wom- 
an who  was  invited  to  that  quilting  was 
anxious  to  go.  The  bee  was  on  Thursday, 
which  was  the  hottest  day  of  all  that  hot 
week.  The  earth  seemed  to  give  out  heat 
like  a  stove,  and  the  sky  was  like  the  lid 
of  a  fiery  pot.  The  hot  air  steamed  up  in 
our  faces  from  the  ground  and  beat  down 
on  the  tops  of  our  heads  from  the  sky. 
There  was  not  a  cool  place  anywhere.  The 
village  women  arose  before  dawn,  aired 
their  rooms,  then  shut  the  windows,  drew 

g9 


A  Ouilting  Bee  in  Our  Village 

the  curtains  and  closed  blinds  and  shut- 
ters, excluding  all  the  sunlight,  but  in  an 
hour  the  heat  penetrated. 

Mrs.  Harrison  White's  parlor  faced 
southwest,  and  the  blinds  would  have  to 
be  opened  in  order  to  have  light  enough; 
it  seemed  a  hard  ordeal  to  undergo.  Lu- 
rinda  Snell  told  Mrs.  Wheelock  that 
it  did  seem  as  if  Brama  Lincoln  might 
have  got  ready  to  be  married  in  better 
weather,  after  waiting  as  long  as  she  had 
done.  Brama  was  not  very  young,  but 
Lurinda  was  older  and  had  given  up  being 
married  at  all  years  ago.  Mrs.  Wheelock 
thought  she  was  a  little  bitter,  but  she 
only  pitied  her  for  that.  Lydia  Wheelock 
is  always  pitying  people  for  their  sins  and 
shortcomings  instead  of  blaming  them. 
She  pacified  Lurinda,  and  told  her  to  wear 
her  old  muslin  and  carry  her  umbrella  and 
her  palm-leaf  fan,  and  the  wind  was  from 
the  southwest,  so  there  would  be  a  breeze 
in  Mrs.  White's  parlor  even  if  it  was  sun- 

The  women  went  early  to  the  quilting; 
90 


'A  Quilting  Bee  in  Our  Village 

they  were  expected  to  be  there  at  one 
o'clock,  to  secure  a  long  afternoon  for 
work.  Eight  were  invited  to  quilt:  Lu- 
rinda  and  Mrs.  Wheelock,  the  young  wid- 
ow, Lottie  Green,  and  five  other  women, 
some  of  them  quite  young,  but  master 
hands  at  such  work. 

Brama  and  her  mother  were  not  going 
to  quilt;  they  had  the  supper  to  prepare. 
Brama's  intended  husband  was  coming 
over  from  Somerset  to  supper,  and  a 
number  of  men  from  our  village  were 
invited. 

A  few  minutes  before  one  o'clock  the 
quilters  went  down  the  street,  with  their 
umbrellas  bobbing  over  their  heads.  Mrs, 
Harrison  White  lives  on  the  South  Side 
in  the  great  house  where  her  husband 
keeps  store.  She  opened  the  door  when 
she  saw  her  guests  coming.  She  is  a 
stout  woman,  and  she  wore  a  large  plaid 
gingham  dress,  open  at  her  creasy  throat. 
Her  hair  clung  in  wet  strings  to  her  tem- 
ples and  her  face  was  blazing.  She  had 
just  come  from  the  kitchen  where  she  was 

9i 


A  Quilting  Bee  in  Our  Village 

baking  cake.    The  whole  house  was  sweet 
and  spicy  with  the  odor  of  it. 

She  ushered  her  guests  into  the  parlor, 
where  the  great  quilting-frame  was 
stretched.  It  occupied  nearly  the  entire 
room.  There  was  just  enough  space  for 
the  quilters  to  file  around  and  seat  them- 
selves four  on  a  side.  The  sheet  of  patch- 
work was  tied  firmly  to  the  pegs  on  the 
quilting-frame.  The  pattern  was  intri- 
cate, representing  the  rising  sun,  the  num- 
ber of  pieces  almost  beyond  belief;  the 
calicoes  comprising  it  were  of  the  finest 
and  brightest. 

*  Most  all  the  pieces  are  new,  an*  I  don't 
believe  but  what  Mis'  White  cut  them 
right  off  goods  in  the  store,"  Lurinda 
Snell  whispered  to  Mrs.  Wheelock  when 
the  hostess  had  withdrawn  and  they  had 
begun  their  labors. 

They  further  agreed  among  themselves 
that  Mrs.  White  and  Brama  must  have 
secretly  prepared  the  patchwork  in  view 
of  some  sudden  and  wholly  uncertain  mat- 
rimonial contingency. 
92 


A  Quilting  Bee  in  Our  Village 

"  I  don't  believe  but  what  this  quilt  ha* 
been  pieced  ever  since  Brama  Lincoln  was 
eixteen  years  old/'  whispered  Lurinda 
Snell,  so  loud  that  all  the  women  could 
hear  her.  Then  suddenly  she  pounced 
forward  and  pointed  with  her  sharp  fore- 
finger at  a  piece  of  green  and  white  calico 
in  the  middle  of  the  quilt.  "  There,  I 
knew  it,"  said  she.  "  I  remember  that 
piece  of  calico  in  a  square  I  saw  Brama 
Lincoln  piecing  over  to  our  house  before 
Francis  was  married."  Lurinda  Snell  has 
a  wonderful  memory. 

"  That's  a  good  many  years  ago,"  said 
Lottie  Green. 

"Yes," whispered  Lurinda  Snell.  When 
she  whispers  her  s's  always  hiss  so  that 
they  make  one's  ears  ache,  and  she  is  very 
apt  to  whisper.  "  LTsed  to  be  hangin'  round 
Francis  considerable  before  he  was  mar- 
ried," she  whispered  in  addition,  and  then 
she  thought  that  she  heard  Mrs.  White 
coming,  and  said,  keeping  up  very  loud, 
in  such  a  pleasant  voice,  "  How  comforta- 
ble it  is  in  this  room  for  all  it  is  such  a 

93 


A  Quilting  Bee  in  Our  Village 

hot  afternoon."  But  her  cunning  was 
quite  needless,  for  Mrs.  White  was  not 
coming. 

The  women  chalked  cords  and  marked 
the  patchwork  in  a  diamond  pattern  for 
quilting.  Two  women  held  the  ends  of  a 
chalked  cord,  stretching  it  tightly  across 
the  patchwork,  and  a  third  snapped  it. 
That  made  a  plain  chalk  line  for  the  nee- 
dle to  follow.  When  a  space  as  far  as  they 
could  reach  had  been  chalked  they  quilted 
it.  When  that  was  finished  they  rolled  the 
quilt  up  and  marked  another  space. 

Brama  Lincoln's  quilt  was  very  large; 
it  did  seem  impossible  to  finish  it  that  af- 
ternoon, though  the  women  worked  like 
beavers  in  that  exceeding  heat.  They 
feared  that  Brama  Lincoln  would  be  dis- 
appointed and  think  they  had  not  worked 
as  hard  as  they  might  when  she  and  her 
mother  had  been  at  so  much  trouble  to 
prepare  tea  for  them. 

Nobody  saw  Brama  Lincoln  or  Mrs. 
White  again  that  afternoon,  but  they 
could  be  heard  stepping  out  in  the  kitchen 

94 


A  Ouilting  Bee  in  Our  Village 

and  sitting-room,  and  at  five  o'clock  the 
china  dishes  and  silver  spoons  began  to 
clink. 

At  a  quarter  before  six  the  men  came. 
There  were  only  three  elderly  ones  in  the 
company:  Mr.  Harrison  White,  of  course, 
and  Mrs.  Wheeloek's  husband,  and  Mr. 
Lucius  Downey,  whose  wife  had  died  the 
jpear  before.  All  the  others  were  young, 
and  considered  beaus  in  the  village. 

The  women  had  just  finished  the  quilt 
and  rolled  it  up,  and  taken  down  the 
frame,  when  Lurinda  Snell  spied  Mr.  Lu- 
aius  Downey  coming,  and  screamed  out 
Mid  ran,  and  all  the  girls  after  her.  They 
had  brought  silk  bags  with  extra  finery, 
wach  as  laces  and  ribbons  and  combs,  to 
put  on  in  the  evening,  and  they  all  raced 
upstairs  to  the  spare  chamber. 

When  they  came  down  with  their  rib- 
bons gayly  flying,  and  some  of  them  with 
their  hair  freshly  curled,  all  the  men  had 
arrived,  and  Mrs.  White  asked  them  to 
walk  out  to  tea. 

Poor  Mrs.  White  had  put  on  her  purple 

95 


A  Quilting  Bee  in  Our  Village 

eilk  dress,  but  her  face  looked  as  if  the 
blood  would  burst  through  it,  and  her  hair 
as  if  it  were  gummed  to  her  forehead. 
Brama  Lincoln  looked  very  well;  her  front 
hair  was  curled,  and  Lurinda  thought 
she  had  kept  it  in  papers  all  day.  She 
wore  a  pink  muslin  gown,  all  ruffled  to 
the  waist,  and  sat  next  her  beau  at  the 
table. 

Lurinda  Snell  sat  on  one  side  of  Mr. 
Lucius  Downey  and  Lottie  Green  on  the 
other,  and  they  saw  to  it  that  his  plate 
was  well  filled.  Once  somebody  nudged 
me  to  look,  and  there  were  five  slices  of 
cake  and  three  pieces  of  pie  on  his  plate. 
However,  they  all  disappeared — Mr. 
Downey  had  a  very  good  appetite. 

Mrs.  White  had  a  tea  which  will  go  into 
the  history  of  the  village.  Everybody  won- 
dered how  she  and  Brama  had  man- 
aged to  do  so  much  in  that  terrible  heat. 
There  were  seven  kinds  of  cake,  besides 
doughnuts,  cookies  and  short  ginger- 
bread; there  were  five  kinds  of  pie,  and 
cup  custards,  hot  biscuits,  cold  bread,  pre- 
96 


A  Quilting  Bee  in  Our  Village 

serves,  cold  ham  and  tongue.  No  woman 
in  the  village  had  ever  given  a  better  quilt- 
ing supper  than  Mrs.  Harrison  White  and 
Brama. 

After  supper  the  men  went  into  the  par- 
lor and  sat  in  a  row  against  the  wall,  while 
the  women  all  assisted  in  clearing  away 
and  washing  the  dishes. 

Then  the  women,  all  except  Mrs.  Wheel- 
ock,  who  went  home  to  take  care  of  Lottie 
Greens  children,  joined  the  men  in  the 
parlor,  and  the  evening  entertainment  be- 
gan. Mrs.  White  tried  to  have  everything 
as  usual  in  spite  of  the  heat.  She  had 
even  got  the  Slocum  boy  to  come  with  his 
fiddle  that  the  company  might  dance. 

First  they  played  games — Copenhagen, 
and  post-office,  roll  the  cover,  and  the  rest. 
Young  and  old  played,  except  Brama  Lin- 
coln and  her  beau;  they  sat  on  the  sofa 
and  were  suspected  of  holding  each  oth- 
er's hands  under  cover  of  her  pink 
flounces.  Many  thought  it  very  silly  in 
them,  but  when  Lurinda  Snell  told  Mrs. 
Wheelock  of  it  next  day  she  said  that 

97 


A  Quilting  Bee  in  Our  Village 

she  thought  there  were  many  worse  things 
to  be  ashamed  of  than  love. 

Lurinda  Snell  played  the  games  witk 
great  enjoyment;  she  is  very  small  and 
wiry,  and  could  jump  for  the  rolling  cover 
like  a  cricket.  Lurinda,  in  spite  of  her 
bitterness  over  her  lonely  estate,  and  her 
evident  leaning  toward  Mr.  Lucius  Dow- 
ney, is  really  very  maidenly  in  some 
respects.  She  always  caught  the  cover  be- 
fore it  stopped  rolling,  and  withdrew  her 
hands  before  they  were  slapped  in  Copen- 
hagen, whereas  Lottie  Green  almost  in- 
variably failed  to  do  so,  and  was,  in  conse- 
quence, kissed  so  many  times  by  Mr. 
Downey  that  nearly  everybody  was  smiling 
and  tittering  about  it. 

However,  Lurinda  Snell  was  exceeding- 
ly fidgety  when  post-office  was  played, 
and  Lucius  Downey  had  so  many  letters 
for  Lottie  Green,  and  finally  she  succeed- 
ed in  putting  a  stop  to  the  game.  The 
post-office  was  in  the  front  entry,  and  of 
-course  the  parlor  door  was  closed  during 
the  delivery  of  the  letters,  and  Lurinda 

9* 


A  Quilting  Bee  in  Our  Village 

objected  to  that.  She  said  the  room  was 
go  warm  with  the  entry  door  shut  that 
she  began  to  feel  a  buzzing  in  her  head, 
which  was  always  dangerous  in  her  family. 
Her  grandfather  had  been  overheated, 
been  seized  with  a  buzzing  in  his  head, 
and  immediately  dropped  dead,  and  so 
had  her  father.  When  she  said  that,  peo- 
ple looked  anxiously  at  Lurinda;  her  face 
was  flushed,  and  the  post-office  was  given 
up  and  the  entry  door  opened. 

Next  Lottie  Green  was  called  upon  to 
fiing,  as  she  always  is  in  company,  she  has 
iuch  a  sweet  voice.  She  stood  up  in  the 
middle  of  the  floor,  and  sang  "Annie  Lau- 
rie" without  any  accompaniment,  because 
the  Slocum  boy,  who  is  not  an  expert  mu- 
sician, did  not  know  how  to  play  that 
tune,  but  Lurinda  was  taken  with  hic- 
coughs. Nobody  doubted  that  she  really 
had  hiccoughs,  but  it  was  considered  just- 
ly that  she  might  have  smothered  them  in 
her  handkerchief,  or  at  least  have  left  the 
room,  instead  of  spoiling  Lottie  Green's 
beautiful  song,  which  she  did  completely- 

99 


A  Quilting  Bee  in  Our  Village 

If  the  Slocum  boy  could  have  played  the 
tune  on  his  fiddle  it  would  not  have  been 
so  disastrous,  but  "Annie  Laurie"  with  no 
accompaniment  but  that  of  hiccoughs  was 
a  failure.  Brama  Lincoln  tiptoed  out  into 
the  kitchen,  and  got  some  water  for  Lu- 
rinda  to  take  nine  swallows  without  stop- 
ping, but  it  did  not  cure  her.  Lurinda 
hiccoughed  until  the  song  was  finished. 

The  Slocum  boy  tuned  his  fiddle  then 
and  the  dancing  began,  but  it  was  not  a 
success — partly  because  of  Lurinda  and 
partly  because  of  the  heat.  Lurinda  would 
not  dance  after  the  first;  she  said  her  head 
buzzed  again,  but  people  thought — it  may 
have  been  unjustly — that  she  was  hurt  be- 
cause Lucius  Downey  had  not  invited  her 
to  dance.  That  spoiled  the  set,  but  aside 
from  that  the  room  was  growing  insuffer- 
ably warm.  The  windows  were  all  wide 
open,  but  the  night  air  came  in  like  puffs 
of  dark,  hot  steam,  and  swarms  of  mos- 
quitoes and  moths  with  it.  The  dancers 
were  all  brushing  away  mosquitoes  and 
wiping  their  foreheads.  Their  faces  were 
ioo 


A  Quilting  Bee  in  Our  Village 

blazing  with  the  heat,  and  even  the  pretty 
girls  had  a  wilted  and  stringy  look  from 
their  hair  out  of  curl  and  their  limp  mus- 
lins. 

When  Lurinda  refused  to  dance  Brama 
Lincoln  at  once  said  that  she  thought  it 
would  be  much  pleasanter  out-of-doors, 
and  took  William  French  by  the  arm  and 
led  the  way.  The  rest  of  the  quilting  bee 
was  held  in  Harrison  White's  front  yard. 
The  folks  sat  there  until  quite  late,  tell- 
ing stories  and  singing  hymns  and  songs. 
Lottie  Green  would  not  sing  alone;  she 
said  it  would  make  her  too  conspicuous. 
The  front  yard  is  next  to  the  store,  and 
there  was  a  row  of  men  on  the  piazza  set- 
tee, besides  others  coming  and  going.  The 
yard  was  light  from  the  store  windows. 
Brama  Lincoln  and  William  French  sat 
as  far  back  in  the  shadow  as  they  could. 

Mr.  Lucius  Downey  sat  on  the  door-step, 
but  of  the  dampness;  he  considers  him- 
self delicate.  Lottie  Green  sat  on  one  side 
of  him  and  Lurinda  Snell  on  the  other. 

There  was  much  covert  curiosity  as  to 


A  Quilting  Bee  in  Our  Village 

which  of  the  two  he  would  escort  home. 
Some  thought  he  would  choose  Lottie, 
some  Lurinda.  The  problem  was  solred 
in  a  most  unexpected  manner. 

Lottie  Green  lives  nearly  a  mile  out  of 
his  way,  in  one  direction,  Lurinda  half  a 
mile  in  another.  When  the  quilting  bee 
disbanded  Lottie,  after  lingering  and  look- 
ing back  with  sweetly-pleading  eyes  from 
under  her  pretty  white  rigolette,  went 
down  the  road  with  Lydia  Wheelock's  hus- 
band; Lurinda  slipped  forlornly  up  the 
road  in  the  wake  of  a  fond  young  couple, 
keeping  close  behind  them  for  protection 
against  the  dangers  of  the  night,  and  Mr. 
Lucius  Downey  went  home  by  himself. 


102 


The  Stockwells'   Apple- 
Paring   Bee 


The  Stockwells'  Apple- 
Paring  Bee 


During  "  apple  years  "  there  are  always 
many  paring  bees  in  our  village.  During 
other  years  there  are,  of  course,  not  so 
many,  and  people,  consequently,  are  more 
eager  to  attend  them.  When  Mr.  Nehe- 
miah  Stoekwell  gave  his  great  bee  it  was 
the  only  one  that  autumn,  and,  therefore, 
an  occasion  to  be  remembered  on  that  ac- 
count, had  not  so  many  remarkable  things 
happened  during  the  evening.  It  seemed 
singular,  when  all  the  other  orchards 
yielded  so  little  fruit,  for  it  was  an  unus- 
ually "  of!  year,"  that  ]STehemiah  Stock- 
welPs  trees  should  have  been  bent  to  the 
ground  and  even  had  some  of  their 
branches  broken  beneath  the  great  weight 
*°5 


The  Stockwells*  Apple-Paring  Bee 

of  apples,  but  thus  matters  often  are  with 
him. 

The  neighbors  regard  Nehemiah  Stock- 
well  with  admiration,  somewhat  tinctured 
with  a  curious  jealousy  as  of  his  favorit- 
ism  with  Providence.  The)r  cannot  under- 
stand why,  when  every  other  garden  im 
the  village  shows  blasted  melon-vines,  his 
are  rampant  with  golden  globes;  when  the 
cut-worms  eat  everybody  else's  cabbages 
his  are  left  undisturbed. 

To  use  the  language  of  one  of  the  bit- 
terest dissenters  against  Mr.  StoekwelFs 
good  fortune:  "It  does  seem  as  if  every- 
body else's  '  off  year '  was  his  '  on  year/  " 
and  "he  always  gets  double  what  any- 
thing is  worth,  because  nobody  else  las 
got  it/' 

Still,  when  people  were  invited  to  the 
paring  bee  they  went,  though  many  felt 
aggrieved  and  puzzled  at  such  an  unequal 
distribution  of  the  fruits  of  the  earth.  Lu- 
rinda  Snell  said  she  was  going  anyhow, 
for  she  hadn't  "  eat "  a  good  apple  that 
year,  and  probably  many  shared  her  politic 

TO* 


The  Stockwells'  Apple-Paring  Bee 

imposition  not  to  slight  the  good  things 
•f  others,  because  of  rancor  at  haying 
Bone  of  their  own. 

The  bee  was  held  in  the  barn  instead  of 
th«  kitchen,  since  it  would  accommodate 
a  greater  number  of  people.  The  Stock- 
well  barn  is  a  very  lajge  one  on  the  oppo- 
fite  side  of  the  road  from  the  house.  It 
was  as  clean  as  a  parlor,  and  well  lighted 
with  rows  of  lanterns  hung  from  the 
fceams  and  scaffolds.  Mrs.  Stockwell  used 
all  her  own,  and  borrowed  many  of  the 
neighbors',  kitchen  chairs,  and  there  were 
a  number  of  tables  set  out  with  pans  and 
knives,  and  needles  aud  strings.  Bushel- 
fcaskets  of  apples  stood  around  the  tables, 
and  the  whole  place  was  full  of  their 
goodly  smell.  There  was  also  a  woody 
fragrance  of  evergreen  and  pine,  for  Lot- 
tie Green  and  Zepheretta  Stockwell  and 
some  other  girls  had  been  at  work  all  day 
trimming  the  barn.  It  was  a  pretty  sight, 
and,  moreover,  quite  a  novel  one.  The 
stanchions  of  the  cow-stalls,  the  straight 
ladders  to  the  scaffolds,  and  the  posts  sup- 
107 


The  Stockwells'  Apple-Paring  Bee 

porting  them  were  all  wound  with  ever- 
green, and  great  branches  of  red  and  yel- 
low maple,  and  sumach,  were  stuck  in  the 
shaggy  fleeces  of  hay  in  the  mows.  Then 
Lottie  Green,  who  has  quite  a  daring  in- 
vention of  her  own,  had  gone  a  step  be- 
yond— each  mild-faced  Jersey  cow  in  the 
stalled  row  had  her#horns  decorated  with 
evergreens  and  yellow  leaves,  and  looked 
out  of  her  stanchions  at  the  company  like 
some  queer  beast  of  fable,  and,  it  must  be 
confessed,  with  somewhat  uneasy  tossing 
of  her  crowned  head. 

Lurinda  Snell  whispered  to  somebody 
that  Lottie  Green  had  called  in  Mr.  Lu- 
cius Downey,  who  happened  to  be  passing 
by,  to  tie  the  greens  on  the  cows'  horns 
when  they  came  home  from  pasture,  and 
she  thought  it  was  pretty  silly  work. 

However,  everybody  agreed  that  the 
barn  was  a  charming  sight,  and  it  became 
still  more  so  when  the  company  was  seat- 
ed around  paring  apples  and  stringing 
them. 

Old  and  young  had  come  to  the  bee,  and 
1 08 


The  Stockwells'  Apple-Paring  Bee 

the  lantern  light  shone  on  silvery  glancing" 
heads  and  dark  and  golden  ones.  It  was 
a  very  warm  night  for  October,  so  warm 
that  the  great  barn  doors  were  slid  apart 
for  air.  People  could  see  through  the  open- 
ing a  young  maple  tree  full  of  yellow 
leaves,  which  gleamed  like  a  torch  in  the 
light  from  the  barn. 

The  girls  often  motioned  the  young 
men  to  look  at  it.  "  See  how  handsome 
that  tree  looks,"  they  cried. 

One  young  man,  Jim  Paine,  whispered 
to  the  girl  beside  him,  so  loud  that  Lurin- 
da  Snell  heard,  that  he  did  not  need  to 
look  outside  the  barn  to  see  something 
handsome,  but  all  the  others  looked  at 
the  beautiful  tree  and  assented.  Jim 
Paine  is,  perhaps,  the  most  gallant  young 
man  in  the  village,  but  he  has  had  the  ad- 
vantage of  living  in  Boston.  He  was  in 
business  there  for  two  years,  and,  though 
he  has  now  come  home  to  live,  and  set- 
tled down  with  his  father,  he  does  not  lose 
his  city  polish,  and  he  makes  the  other 
young  men  appear  provincial.  He  ia 
109 


The  Stockwclls'  Apple-Paring  Bee 

handsome,  too,  and  considered  a  great 
catch  by  the  village  girls  and  their  moth- 
ers. 

People  were  not  surprised  at  Jim 
Paine's  remark;  they  admitted  that  it 
sounded  just  like  him,  but  they  wondered 
that  it  should  have  been  addressed  to  such 
a  girl.  Zepheretta  Stockwell  is  a  good 
girl,  no  one  denies  that.  She  is  faithful 
and  industrious,  but  she  is  not  only  very 
plain-featured,  but  quite  lame,  and  none 
of  the  young  men  have  fancied  her. 

The  other  girls  were  almost  too  scorn- 
ful to  be  jealous,  and  tittered  when  Lurin- 
da  Snell  repeated  Jim's  speech.  As  for 
poor  Zepheretta,  who  had  never,  during* 
her  whole  life,  had  anything  like  that  said 
to  her,  she  turned  white  as  a  sheet  at  first, 
and  then  looked  at  Jim  in  a  sad,  sharp 
way  that  she  has;  then  she  blushed  so  that 
her  cheeks  were  as  red  as  the  apple  she 
was  paring,  and  she  looked  almost  pretty. 
Zepheretta's  hair  is  a  common,  lustreless 
brown,  but  she  brushes  it  until  it  is  very 
smooth;  she  never  crimps  it.     There  is  a 


The  Stockwells'  Apple-Paring  Bee 

sort  of  patient  hopelessness  of  attraction 
about  Zepheretta.  She  does  not  even  have 
her  dresses  trimmed  much.  That  night 
she  wore  a  plain  brown  cashmere  with  a 
little  white  ruffle  in  the  neck,  and  a  very 
fine  white  cambric  apron  beautifully  hem- 
stitched. People  thought  that  Zepheretta 
was  rather  extravagant  to  wear  such  an 
apron  to  a  paring  bee,  though  her  father 
was  well-to-do.  All  the  women  wore 
aprons,  but  most  of  them  were  made  of 
gingham  or  calico. 

The  men  pared  the  apples,  and  some  of 
the  women  pared  and  some  strung.  The 
stringing  was  regarded  as  rather  the  nicer 
work,  and  the  prettiest  girls,  as  a  rule,  did 
it.  After  a  while  Jim  Paine  took  away 
Zepheretta's  pan  of  apples  and  knife,  and 
got  a  dish  of  nicely-cut  quarters,  and  a 
needle  and  string  for  her.  Then  some  of 
the  pretty  girls  began  to  look  spiteful  and 
sober.  Presently  one  of  them,  Maria  Rice, 
cut  her  finger,  for  she  was  paring,  and  said 
she  would  not  work  at  all;  she  would 
go  home  if  she  could  not  string.     The» 


The  Stockwells'  Apple-Paring  Bee 

Zepheretta  at  once  gave  up  her  stringing 
to  Maria  and  fell  to  paring  again,  while 
Jim  Paine  looked  bewildered  and  vexed. 
After  a  little  he  edged  over  beside  Maria, 
and  pared  and  cut  for  her  to  string,  and 
she  was  radiant.  As  for  Zepheretta  she 
pared  away  as  patient  as  ever.  She  is 
always  giving  up  to  other  people,  still  she 
looked  rather  sober. 

All  the  young  people  were  twirling  ap- 
ple-parings three  times  around  their  heads 
and  letting  them  fall  over  their  left  shoul- 
ders to  determine  the  initials  of  their  fu- 
ture husbands  or  wives.  They  also  named 
apples  and  counted  the  seeds,  all  except- 
ing Zepheretta.  They  would  have  been 
inclined  to  laugh  if  she  had  followed  their 
example,  for  nobody  thought  Zepheretta 
would  ever  marry. 

Finally,  Jim  Paine,  in  spite  of  Maria 
Rice's  efforts  to  keep  him,  rose  and  saun- 
tered over  to  where  Zepheretta  sat  patient- 
ly paring.  Her  face  lit  up  so  when  he 
6at  down  beside  her  that  she  looked  al- 
most pretty.  Maria  Rice  looked  non- 
112 


The  Stockwells'  Apple-Paring  Bee 

plusscd,  but  only  for  a  moment.  She  had 
enough  strategic  instinct  for  a  general. 
She  also  rose  promptly,  followed  Jim,  and 
sat  down,  not  beside  him,  as  a  less  clever 
girl  would  have  done,  but  on  the  other 
side,  next  Zepheretta.  She  began  to  ad- 
mire, with  great  effusion,  the  knitted  lace 
on  Zepheretta's  apron,  and  begged  for  the 
pattern.  She  took  up  Zepheretta's  atten- 
tion so  completely  that  Jim  Paine,  on  the 
other  side,  was  quite  ignored,  and  pared 
apples  in  silence. 

Probably  not  many  people  in  the  barn 
saw  through  Maria's  manoeuvre.  Our  vil- 
lage does  not  rear  many  diplomats.  Few 
would  have  even  noticed  it  had  it  not  been 
for  the  accident  which  resulted  and  came 
near  changing  our  festivity  to  tragedy. 
Maria,  in  order  to  sit  beside  Zepheretta, 
had  forced  herself  into  a  corner  where  no 
one  was  expected  to  sit,  and  which  was  oc- 
cupied by  a  low-hung  lantern.  Her  head 
came  very  near  it  when  she  first  sat  down, 
and  some  one  called  to  her  to  take  care. 
She  jerked  aside,  with  a  coquettish  giggle, 

"3 


The   Stockwclls'  Apple-Paring  Bee 

but  it  was  not  long  before  she  forgot  and 
brought  her  head  up  severely  against  the 
lantern.  There  was  a  crash,  a  scream,  thea 
a  wild  flash  of  fire,  and  Zepheretta  Stock- 
well  was  flying  to  the  nearest  horse-stali 
and  dragging  off  the  bay  mare's  blanket 
before  anybody  could  think.  Maria's  aproa 
was  blazing,  and  if  it  had  not  beea 
for  Zepheretta  she  would  certainly  have 
been  dangerously,  if  not  fatally,  burned. 
Zepheretta  flung  the  horse  blanket  over 
Maria,  and  threw  her  down  to  the  floor  un- 
der it  before  any  one  else  stirred.  Thea 
Jim  Paine  sprung,  but  Zepheretta  cried  t* 
him  fiercely  to  keep  off,  and  crouched  M 
closely  over  Maria  that  he  could  not  come 
near.  However,  there  was  enough  to  do, 
for  a  fringe  of  hay  from  the  scaffold  had 
caught  fire,  and  if  it  had  not  been  for  quick 
work  the  barn  would  have  gone.  It  was 
a  narrow  escape  as  it  was,  for  hay  burns 
like  powder.  The  men  tore  off  their  coata 
to  smother  the  flames;  they  formed  a  line 
to  the  well  and  passed  buckets  of  water. 
In  fifteen  minutes  the  fire  was  completely 

114 


The  Stockwells'  Apple-Paring  Bee 

under  control,  but  that  was  an  end  of  the 
apple  paring  for  that  night.  The  barn 
was  drenched  with  water,  the  apples  were 
swollen  and  dripping,  and  everybodj  was 
too  nervous  to  settle  down  to  work  again 
under  any  circumstances. 

Maria  Eice  was  not  burned  at  all.  When 
Zepheretta  released  her  from  the  blanket 
she  got  up,  looking  pale  and  disheveled, 
with  her  apron  a  blackened  rag,  but  she 
was  quite  uninjured.  But  poor  Zepheret- 
ta's  hands  were  burned  to  a  blister,  though 
she  said  nothing,  and  nobody  would  have 
known  it  had  she  not  almost  fainted  away- 
after  the  scare  was  over. 

Mr.  Nehemiah  Stockwell  stood  up  in  the 
middle  of  the  barn  and  said  he  guessed  we 
had  better  call  the  paring  over,  and  all 
come  into  the  house  and  have  supper.  His 
voice  trembled,  and  we  could  see  that  he 
was  still  fairly  quaking  with  the  fright. 

It  would  have  been  a  great  loss  to  ISTe- 
hemiah  Stockwell  had  his  barn  been  de- 
stroyed, for  he  carried  only  a  very  small 
insurance  on  it. 

Ir5 


The  Stockwells*  Apple-Paring  Bee 

"Well,  we  all  went  across  the  road  to  the 
house — those  who  had  not  fled  there  al- 
ready in  the  fear  of  being  burned  alive  in 
the  barn — and  there  was  the  supper-table 
all  laid  in  the  sitting-room. 

It  was  just  after  we  entered  the  house 
that  Zepheretta  nearly  fainted  from  the 
pain  of  her  burns,  and  her  Aunt  Hannah, 
Mr.  StockwelPs  sister,  who  had  been  as- 
sisting Mrs.  Stockwell,  went  with  her  to 
her  own  room.  That  was  possibly  the  rea- 
son why  we  had  such  a  singular  experi- 
ence with  the  supper.  Hannah  Stockwell 
being  very  calm  and  clear-headed,  it  is  not 
probable  that  she  would  have  allowed  us 
to  sit  down  to  the  table  until  certain  mat- 
ters had  been  differently  arranged.  Poor 
Mrs.  Stockwell  was  almost  in  hysterics — 
tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks  in  spite  of 
her  frequent  dabs  with  her  apron,  catch- 
ing her  breath,  and  trembling  so  that 
when  she  took  up  a  cup  and  saucer  they 
rattled  like  castanets. 

"We  placed  ourselves  as  best  we  could 
around  the  table.  There  was  not  quite 
116 


The  Stockwells'  Apple-Paring  Bee 

chairs  enough;  some  stood  all  through 
the  meal,  though  Mr.  Stockwell  and  his 
hired  man  raced  wildly  back  and  forth 
with  chairs,  after  the  blessing  had  been 
asked. 

The  minister  asked  the  blessing,  and  it 
was  a  very  long  one,  including  fervent 
thanks  for  deliverance  from  perils,  from 
fire  and  flood.  Then  we  began  to  eat  sup- 
per, but  there  was  very  little  to  eat.  There 
was  really  nothing  but  bread — and  cold 
bread  at  that — and  dried-apple  sauce,  and 
one  small  pumpkin  pie.  There  was  neith- 
er tea  nor  coffee,  though  many  were 
sure  they  could  smell  them.  Everybody 
had  expected  a  fine  supper  at  the  Stock- 
wells',  but  there  was  such  a  poor  repast  as 
nobody  in  our  village  had  ever  been  known 
to  offer  at  a  paring  bee.  However,  we 
were  all  too  polite,  of  course,  to  speak  of 
it,  and  Mrs.  Stockwell  did  not  appear  to 
notice  anything  out  of  the  way.  Lurinda 
Snell  whispered  that  she  acted  as  if  she 
didn't  know  whether  she  was  at  a  wed- 
ding or  a  funeral.  Lurinda  looked  out 
i*7 


The  Stockwells,  Apple-Paring  Bee 

that  Lucius  Downey  had  a  piece  of  the 
one  pumpkin  pie.  We  all  discussed  the 
fire  and  tried  to  eat  as  if  we  enjoyed  the 
supper,  but  it  was  hard  work.  The  dried- 
apple  sauce  was  not  sweetened,  and  there 
was  no  butter,  even,  on  the  table. 

We  went  home  soon  after  supper.  Usu- 
ally there  is  an  after-course  of  flip  and 
roasted  chestnuts  on  these  occasions,  but 
nothing  was  said  about  it  that  night.  We 
all  sat  around  a  half  hour  or  so  and  dis- 
cussed the  fire,  and  then,  with  one  accord, 
rose  and  took  leave.  Zepheretta  had  not 
returned,  and  we  understood  that  she  had 
gone  to  bed.  I  heard  Jim  Paine  inquir- 
ing of  Mrs.  Stockwell  how  she  was,  and 
she  replied  that  Hannah  had  put  scraped 
potato  on  the  burns,  and  they  were  less 
painful,  but  she  guessed  Zepheretta 
wouldn't  come  down  again.  Jim  Paine 
had  to  take  Maria  Rice  home,  for  she  de- 
clared that  she  felt  too  weak  to  walk,  and 
he  was  the  only  one  who  had  a  vacant  seat 
in  his  carriage. 

We  were  all  flocking  out  of  the  front 
118 


The  Stockwells'  Apple-Paring  Bee 

gate,  looking  across  at  the  barn,  and  say- 
ing for  the  hundredth  time  how  thankful 
we  ought  to  be,  when  we  heard  Hannah 
StockwelPs  voice,  and  after  her  Mrs.  Ne- 
hrrniah  StockweH's,  like  a  shrill  echo. 

"  You  haven't  had  a  single  thing  that 
we  meant  to  have  for  supper,"  cried  Han- 
nah Stockwell. 

"  No,  you  ain't,  oh,  dear  !  oh,  dear  !  " 
cried  Mrs.  Stockwell  after  her. 

"  There  was  mince  pies,  and  apple  pies, 
and  Indian  pudding,"  said  Hannaji. 

"And  plum  pudding,"  declared  Mrs. 
Stockwell. 

"  Pumpkin  pie  and  cranberry  pie,  and 
Aoughnuts." 

"  And  cheese » 

u  There  was  hot  biscuits,  and  corn- 
"bread,  and  freshly-baked  beans." 

"  And  pork,  and  pickles " 

°  There  was  a  great  chicken  pie,  and 
coffee." 

"And  tea  for  them  that  wanted  it," 
said   Mrs.    Stockwell.     "  I   forgot   every- 
thing.   I  was  so  upset.    Oh,  dear  ! " 
119 


The  Stockwells'  Apple-Paring  Bee 

"  There  was  pound  cake,  and  fruit  cake, 
and  sponge  cake,"  Hannah  Stockwell  said. 

u  And  ginger  cookies,  and  seed  cakes — 
oh,  dear  ! " 

The  two  women  went  on  with  the  cata- 
logue of  that  feast  which  we  had  missed. 
No  such  supper  had  ever  "been  prepared 
for  an  apple-paring  bee  in  our  village. 
They  begged  us,  and  Mr.  Stockwell  begged 
us,  to  return  and  partake  of  the  dainties, 
but  it  was  too  late,  we  were  all  more  or 
less  shaken  by  our  exciting  experience, 
and  we  all  refused,  though  some  of  the 
men  would  have  accepted  had  not  their 
wives  hindered  them. 

We  bade  the  Stockwells  good-night,  as- 
suring them  that  we  had  had  a  delightful 
evening,  and  that  the  supper  did  not  sig- 
nify in  the  least,  and  departed.  But,  as  we 
were  going  down  the  road,  we  heard  Han- 
nah StockwelPs  voice  again: 

"  There  were  fried  apple  turnovers  and 
currant  jelly  tarts,"  and  Mrs.  Stockweirs, 
feebly,  but  insistently,  "And  peach  pre- 
serves and  tomato  ketchup." 
120 


The  Stockwells'  Apple-Paring  Bee 

We  went  home  that  night  feeling  sure, 
and  we  have  felt  sure  ever  since,  that  we 
had  never  in  our  lives  eaten,  nor  ever 
should  eat,  such  a  supper  as  the  one  we 
missed  at  the  Stockwells'  apple-paring 
bee. 


121 


The  Christmas  Sing  in  Our 
Village 


The  Christmas  Sing  in  Our 
Village 


The  singing-school  is,  of  course,  a  regu- 
lar institution  in  our  village  during  the 
winter  months,  but  the  one  of  special  in- 
terest is  held  on  Christmas  Eve.  That  is 
called,  to  distinguish  it  from  the  others, 
"  The  Christmas  Sing/'  On  that  night 
only  the  psalms  and  fugues  appropriate  to 
the  occasion  are  sung,  and  the  town  hall  is 
trimmed  with  holly  and  evergreen. 

The  Sing  begins  at  eight  o'clock  and  is 
always  preceded  by  a  turkey  supper.  The 
supper  is  in  the  tavern,  as  it  used  to  be 
called — now  we  say  "hotel  " — still  it  is 
the  tavern,  and  always  will  be  the  same 
old  house  where  the  stages  drew  up  be- 
fore the  railroad  was  built. 

I2s 


The  Christmas  Sing  in  Cur  Village 

The  turkey  supper  is  at  six  o'clock,  and 
at  least  two  hours  are  required  to  dispose 
of  the  good  things  and  speechify;  then  the 
people  cross  the  road  to  the  town  hall, 
where  the  Sing  is  held.  It  is  a  great  oc- 
casion in  our  village,  and  the  women  give 
as  much  care  to  their  costumes  as  if  they 
were  going  to  a  ball.  The  dressmaker  is 
hard  worked  for  weeks  before  the  Sing. 
Everybody  who  can  afford  it  has  a  new 
dress,  and  those  who  cannot,  have  their 
old  ones  made  over.  The  women  all  try 
to  keep  their  costumes  secret  until  the 
night  of  the  Sing,  and  the  dressmaker  is 
bound  over  by  the  most  solemn  promises 
not  to  reveal  anything.  The  Christmas 
Sing  is  often  most  brilliant  and  surprising 
to  our  humble  tastes  in  the  matter  of 
dress,  and  was  especially  so  last  year.  The 
sing  of  last  year  was  also  noteworthy  in 
another  respect;  there  were  three  betroth- 
als and  a  runaway  marriage  that  night. 

It  was  ideal  weather  for  Christmas  Eve 
and  our  Sing;  very  cold  and  clear,  a  full 
moon,  and  a  beautiful,  hard  level  of  snow 
126 


The  Christmas  Sing  in  Our  Village 

for  sleighing.  At  six  o'clock  everybody 
was  assembled  at  the  tavern;  past  and 
present  members  of  the  singing-school — 
even  old  man  Veazie,  who  is  over  ninety 
— were  there.  There  were  also  some  guests 
— fine  singers — from  out  of  town. 

The  turkey  supper  was  excellent,  and 
so  were  the  speeches.  One  of  the  best  was 
made  by  Mr.  Cassius  C.  Powell  from  East 
Langham,  a  village  about  eight  miles  from 
ours,  ile  is  a  very  line  tenor  singer  and 
quite  a  celebrity.  He  sings  in  the  church 
choir  in  Langham,  and  is  in  great  demand 
to  sing  at  funerals.  He  is  not  very  young, 
but  fine  looking  and  a  great  favorite  with 
the  ladies.  He  has  a  gentle,  deferential 
way  of  looking  at  them  which  is  consid- 
ered very  attractive.  Lottie  Green  sat  next 
him  at  the  supper-table,  and  lie  looked  at 
her,  and  made  sure  that  she  had  plenty 
of  white  meat  and  gravy.  Mr.  Lucius 
Downey  was  on  the  other  side  of  Lottie, 
but  she  paid  no  attention  to  him.  Had  it 
not  been  for  Lurinda  Snell.  who  was  next 
on  his  right,  lie  might  have  felt  slighted  _ 
127 


The  Christmas  Sing  in  Our  Village 

She  looked  very  well,  too,  in  a  fine  new 
silk  dress,  plum  color  with  velvet  trim- 
ming. Lurinda  was  quite  pretty  in  her 
youth,  and  sometimes  dress  and  excite- 
ment seem  to  revive  something  of  her  old 
beauty.  Her  cheeks  were  pink  and  her 
eyes  bright;  her  hair,  which  is  still  abun- 
dant, was  most  beautifully  crimped. 

Lottie  Green,  also,  looked  very  pretty. 
She  had  not  been  able  to  afford  a  new 
dress,  but  she  had  made  over  her  old  blue 
cloth  one  and  put  in  silk  sleeves,  and  it 
was  as  good  and  quite  as  pretty  as  when  it 
was  new. 

Probably  Maria  Bice  had  the  finest  new 
dress  of  any  of  the  girls.  Everybody  stared 
at  Maria  when  she  entered  with  a  great 
rustle  of  silk  and  rattle  of  starched  petti- 
coats. The  dress  was  of  pink  silk,  and — 
a  most  startling  innovation  in  our  village 
— the  waist  was  cut  square  and  quite  low. 
Maria  has  a  beautiful  neck,  and  she  wore 
a  great  bunch  of  pink  roses  on  one  shoul- 
der. She  had  elbow  sleeves,  too,  and  drew 
-off  her  long  gloves  with  a  very  fme  air 
128 


The  Christmas  Sing  in  Our  Village 

when  she  sat  down  to  table.  The  other 
girls  were  half  admiring,  half  scandalized. 
No  such  costume  as  that  had  ever  been 
worn  to  our  singing  school  before.  Poor 
Zepheretta  Stockwell,  in  a  black  silk 
which  might  have  been  worn  appro- 
priate!}' by  her  grandmother,  was  entirely 
eclipsed  by  Maria  in  more  senses  than 
one.  Jim  Paine  sat  between  the  two  girls 
at  supper.  Maria's  pink  skirts  spread  over 
his  knee,  her  pretty  face  was  tilted  up  in 
his  and  her  tongue  was  wagging  every 
minute.  Once  I  saw  Jim  try  to  speak  to 
Zepheretta,  but  Maria  was  too  quick  for 
him. 

When  supper  was  over  the  people  all 
assembled  in  the  town  hall  without  delay. 
The  hall  was  finely  decorated — green 
wreaths  hung  in  all  the  windows,  and  the 
portrait  of  the  gentleman  who  gave  the 
town  house  to  the  village  fifty  years  ago, 
'\Squire  Ebenezer  Adams,  was  draped  with 
an  American  flag.  It  is  a  life-size  por- 
trait, and  hangs  on  the  right  of  the 
stage.  Our  old  singing  master  and  choir 
129 


The  Christmas  Sing  in  Our  Village 

leader,  Mr.  Orlando  Sage,  stood  on  the 
stage,  and  conducted  the  school,  as  usual. 
The  piano  was  on  his  right.  The  south 
district  teacher,  Mis?  Elmira  Crane,  played 
that.  There  was  old  Mr.  Joseph  Nelson, 
With  his  hass  viol,  which  he  used  to  play 
in  the  church  choir,  and  Thomas  Farr  and 
Charlie  Morse,  with  their  violins. 

The  school  was  arranged  in  the  usual 
manner,  in  the  four  divisions  of  sopranos, 
tenors,  bassos  and  altos.  At  eight  o'clock 
Mr.  Sage  raised  his  baton,  and  the  music 
began. 

Everybody  stood  up,  and  sang  their  best 
and  loudest,  with,  perhaps,  one  exception. 
The  result  was  quite  magnificent,  unless 
you  happened  to  stand  close  to  certain 
singers,  and  did  not  sing  loud  enough 
yourself  to  drown  them  out. 

"We  went  on  with  the  fine  old  fugues, 
and  it  was  grand,  had  it  not  been  for  the 
weakness  in  the  sopranos.  At  length,  Mr. 
Orlando  Sage  stood  directly  in  front  of 
the  sopranos,  waving  his  baton  frantical- 
ly, raising  himself  up  on  his  toes,  and 
130 


The  Christmas  Sing  in  Our  Village 

jerking  his  head  as  if  in  such  ways  he 
would  stimulate  them  to  greater  volume 
of  voice.  Mr.  Sage  is  a  nervous  little 
man.  Finally,  with  an  imperious  switch 
of  his  baton,  and  a  stamp  of  his  foot,  he 
brought  the  whole  school  to  a  dead  stop. 

"Miss  Stockwell/'  he  said,  "why  don't 
you  sing  ?  " 

Everybody  stared  at  Zepheretta.  She 
turned  white,  then  red,  and  replied  mcek- 


0 


that  she  was  sinsin 


"  Xo,  you  are  not  singing,"  returned 
Mr.  Sage.  "  I  was  riding  pasi  your  fa- 
ther's yesterday,  and  I  heard  you  singing. 
You  have  a  voice.   Why  don't  you  sing  ?  '' 

Mr.  Sage  brandished  his  baton,  as  if  he 
would  like  to  hit  her  with  it,  and  poor 
Zepheretta  looked  almost  frightened  to 
death.  "  Why  don't  you  sing  ?  "  sternly 
demanded  Mr.  Sage  again.  "  You  never 
sing  in  this  school  as  you  can  sing." 

Zepheretta  looked  as  if  she  were  going 

lo  cry.    She  opened  her  mouth,  as  if  to 

speak,  but  did  not.    Then,  suddenly,  Lu- 

riuda  Snell,  who  sat  on  her  right,  spoke 

1^1 


The  Christmas  Sing  in  Our  Village 

for  her.  "  I  can  tell  you  why,  if  you  want 
to  know,  Mr.  Sage,"  she  said;  "  I  haven't 
told  a  soul  before,  but  much  as  three 
years  ago  I  heard  Maria  Rice  tell  Zepher- 
etta  not  to  sing  so  loud,  she  drowned  her 
all  out,  and  Zepheretta  hasn't  sung  so 
loud  since/' 

When  Lurinda  stopped,  with  a  defiant 
nod  of  her  head,  you  could  have  heard  a 
pin  drop.  Maria  Rice,  on  the  other  side 
of  Zepheretta,  was  blushing  as  pink  as  her 
•dress.  Then  Mr.  Sage  brought  his  baton 
down.  "  Sing  !  "  he  shouted,  and  we  all 
began  again — "  When  shepherds  watch 
their  flocks  by  night.*' 

Zepheretta  did  let  out  her  voice  a  little 
more  then,  and  we  were  all  amazed;  no- 
body had  dreamed  she  could  sing  so  well. 
Still  it  was  quite  evident  that  she  held  her 
voice  back  somewhat  on  her  high  notes, 
on  account  of  Maria's  feelings,  though 
Maria  would  not  sing  at  all  during  the 
rest  of  the  evening.  I  think  she  was  glad 
when  the  Sing  was  over,  though  everybody 
else  had  enjoyed  it. 

132 


The  Christmas  Sing  in  Our  Village 

It  was  ten  o'clock  when  we  closed,  after 
singing  "  When  marshaled  on  the  nightly 
plain/*'  and  all  the  young  men  who  had 
come  with  teams  hastened  out  to  get 
them.  Many  a  young  woman  who  had 
come  to  the  Sing  with  her  father  or 
brother  went  home  in  the  sleigh  of  some 
gallant  swain  who  was  waiting  for  her 
when  she  emerged  from  the  town  hall. 
All  the  girls  in  coming  down  the  steps  ran 
a  sort  of  gauntlet  of  love  and  jealousy 
between  double  lines  of  waiting  beaus, 
beyond  whom  the  restive  horses  pranced 
with  frequent  flurries  of  bells. 

Then  Maria  Rice,  to  the  great  delight 
of  the  vindictive  of  her  sex  and  the 
amused  pity  of  others,  was  seen,  after 
manifestly  hurrying  and  lingering,  and 
peering  with  eagerly  furtive  eyes  toward 
Jim  Paine,  to  gather  up  her  pink  silk 
skirts  and  go  forlornly  down  the  road 
with  Lydia  Wheelock,  who  lived  her  way.' 
It  was  rumored  that  she  wept  all  the  way 
home,  in  spite  of  Lydia's  attempts  to  com- 
fort her,  but  nobody  ever  knew.    She  was 

*33 


The  Christmas  Sing  in  Our  Village 

not  far  on  the  road  before  Jim  Paine  and 
Zepheretta  passed  her  in  Jim's  sleigh, 
drawn  by  his  fast  black  horse. 

Everybody  was  astonished  to  see  Jim 
step  out  from  the  waiting  file,  accost 
Zepheretta,  and  lead  her  to  his  sleigh  as 
if  she  had  been  a  princess,  and  probably 
Zepheretta  was  the  most  astonished  of  all. 
;  Mr.  Caseins  C.  Dowell,  who  had  driven 
over  from  Langham,  took  Lottie  Green 
home,  and  Mr.  Lucius  Downey  escorted 
Lurinda  Snell.  He  had  brought  a  lantern, 
though  it  wras  bright  moonlight — he  is 
fond  of  carrying  *one  because  his  eyes  are 
poor.  The  lantern  light  shone  full  on 
Lurinda's  face  as  she  went  proudly  past 
on  his  arm,  and  she  looked  like  a  young 
girl. 

The  next  day  we  heard  that  all  three 
couples  were  going  to  be  married,  and 
that  another  young  couple,  who  had 
driven  down  the  road  at  such  a  furious 
rate  that  everybody  had  hastened  out  of 
the  way,  and  there  had  been  narrow  es- 
capes from  collisions,  were  married.  They 

*34 


The  Christinas  Sing  in  Our  Village 

had  driven  ten  miles  to  Dover  for  that 
purpose,  nobody  ever  knew  why.  The 
parents  on  either  side  would  have  given 
free  consent  to  the  match,  but  they  drove 
to  Dover  that  Christmas  Eve  as  if  a  whole 
regiment  of  furious  relatives  were  savage- 
ly charging  at  their  back-. 

However,  that  marriage  has  been  happy 
so  far,  and  the  others  also.  Jim  and 
Zepheretta  are  a  devoted  pair;  Lurinda 
Snell  makes  a  good  wife  for  Lucius  Dow- 
ney, and  does  not  talk  as  bitterly  about 
her  neighbors  as  she  was  accustomed  to 
do  formerly.  Cassius  C.  Dowell  seems 
very  happy  with  Lottie,  so  the  neighbor- 
all  say,  and  Lydia  Wheclock,  now  that 
she  has  not  Lottie  and  her  children  to 
look  after  and  provide  for,  has  bought. 
herself  a  new  parlor  carpet  and  a  bonnet. 

Take  it  altogether,  that  Sing  seemed  to 
bring  much  happiness  to  our  village,  set. 
as  it  were,  to  sweet  Christmas  music. 


THE 
JAMESONS 


BY 

MARY    E.    WILKINS 

'A    Humble    Romance,"    "A   New    England    Nun, 

"TiiMDROKE,"     Etc. 


NEW  YORK 

Intbrmational  Association  of  Newspapers  &  Authors 
1901 


Copyright,  189S,  1899,  by  thk 
CURTIS  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

CoPYRICHT,   1899,  BY  THK 

BOUBLEDAY  &  McCLURE  CO. 


hOKiH  tUVEK  iSJNDEKY 
PKIN'TKKS  AN!)  BINDERS 
NEW  YORK  CITV,  N.  Y. 


THE  JAMESONS 


THEY   ARRIVE 


Until  that  summer  nobody  in  our  vil- 
lage had  ever  taken  boarders.  There  had 
been  no  real  necessity  for  it,  and  we  had 
always  been  rather  proud  of  the  fact. 
"While  we  were  certainly  not  rich — there 
was  not  one  positively  rich  family  among 
us — we  were  comfortably  provided  with 
all  the  necessities  of  life.  We  did  not 
need  to  open  our  houses,  and  our  closets, 
and  our  bureau  drawers,  and  give  the 
freedom  of  our  domestic  hearths,  and,  as 
it  were,  our  household  gods  for  playthings, 
to  strangers  and  their  children. 
1  136 


The  Jamesons 

Many  of  us  had  to  work  for  our  daily 
bread,  but,  we  were  thankful  to  say,  not 
in  that  way.  We  prided  ourselves  be- 
cause there  was  no  summer  hotel  with  a 
demoralizing  bowling-alley,  and  one  of 
those  dangerous  chutes,  in  our  village. 
We  felt  forbiddingly  calm  and  superior 
when  now  and  then  some  strange  city 
people  from  Grover,  the  large  summer 
resort  six  miles  from  us,  travelled  up  and 
down  our  main  street  seeking  board  in 
vain.  We  plumed  ourselves  upon  our 
reputation  of  not  taking  boarders  for  love 
or  money. 

Nobody  had  dreamed  that  there  was  to 
be  a  break  at  last  in  our  long-established 
custom,  and  nobody  dreamed  that  the 
break  was  to  be  made  in  such  a  quarter. 
One  of  the  most  well-to-do,  if  not  the 
most  well-to-do,  of  us  all,  took  the  first 
boarders  ever  taken  in  Linnville.  When 
Amelia  Powers  heard  of  it  she  said, 
" Them  that  has,  gits." 

On  the  afternoon  of  the  first  day  of 
137 


They   Arrive 

June,  six  years  ago,  I  was  sewing  at  my 
sitting-room  window.  I  was  making  a 
white  muslin  dress  for  little  Alice,  my 
niece,  to  wear  to  the  Seventeenth-of-June 
picnic.  I  had  been  sitting  there  alone  all 
the  afternoon,  and  it  was  almost  four 
o'clock  when  I  saw  Amelia  Powers,  who 
lives  opposite,  and  who  had  been  sewing 
at  her  window — I  had  noticed  her  arm 
moving  back  and  forth,  disturbing  the 
shadows  of  the  horse-chestnut  tree  in  the 
yard — fling  open  her  front  door,  run  out 
on  the  piazza,  and  stand  peering  around 
the  corner  post,  with  her  neck  so  stretched 
that  it  looked  twice  as  long  as  before. 
Then  her  sister  Candace,  who  has  poor 
health  and  seldom  ventures  out-of-doors, 
threw  up  the  front  chamber  window  and 
leaned  out  as  far  as  she  was  able,  and 
stared  with  her  hand  shading  her  eyes 
from  the  sun.  I  could  just  see  her  head 
through  an  opening  in  the  horse-chestnut 
branches. 

Then   I  heard  another  door  open,  and 
138 


The  Jamesons 

Mrs.  Peter  Jones,  who  lives  in  the  house 
next  below  the  Powers',  came  running 
out.  She  ran  down  the  walk  to  her  front 
gate  and  leaned  over,  all  twisted  sideways, 
to  see. 

Then  I  heard  voices,  and  there  were 
Adeline  Ketchum  and  her  mother  coming 
down  the  street,  all  in  a  nutter  of  hurry. 
Adeline  is  slender  and  nervous ;  her  elbows 
jerked  out,  her  chiu  jerked  up,  and  her 
skirts  switched  her  thin  ankles;  Mrs. 
Ketchum  is  very  stout,  and  she  walked 
with  a  kind  of  quivering  flounce.  Her 
face  was  blazing,  and  I  knew  her  bonnet 
was  on  hindside  before — I  was  sure  that 
the  sprig  of  purple  flowers  belonged  on 
the  front. 

When  Adeline  and  her  mother  reached 
Mrs.  Peter  Jones'  gate  they  stopped,  and 
they  all  stood  there  together  looking. 
Then  I  saw  Tommy  Gregg  racing  along, 
and  I  felt  positive  that  his  mother  had 
sent  him  to  see  what  the  matter  was. 
She  is  a  good  woman,  but  the  most  curi- 
i39 


They   Arrive 

ous  person  in  our  village.  She  never 
seems  to  have  enough  affairs  of  her  own 
to  thoroughly  amuse  her.  I  never  saw  a 
hoy  run  as  fast  as  Tommy  did — as  if  his 
mother's  curiosity  and  his  own  were  a 
sort  of  motor  compelling  him  to  his  ut- 
most speed.  His  legs  seemed  never  to 
come  out  of  their  running  crooks,  and  his 
shock  of  hair  was  fairly  stiffened  out  he- 
hind  with  the  wind. 

Then  I  began  to  wonder  if  it  were  pos- 
sible there  was  a  fire  anywhere.  I  ran  to 
my  front  door  and  called : 

"Tommy!  Tommy!"  said  T,  "where  is 
the  fire?" 

Tommy  did  not  hear  me,  but  all  of  a 
sudden  the  fire-bell  began  to  ring. 

Then  I  ran  across  the  street  to  Mrs. 
Peter  Jones'  gate,  and  Amelia  Powers 
came  hurrying  out  of  her  yard. 

M  Where  is  it  ?  Oh,  where  is  it  ?  "  said 
she,  and  Candace  put  her  head  out  of  the 
window  and  called  out,  "Where  is  it? 
Is  it  near  here  ?  " 

740 


The  Jamesons 

"We  all  sniffed  for  smoke  and  strained 
our  eyes  for  a  red  fire  glare  on  the  hori- 
zon, but  we  could  neither  smell  nor  see 
anything  unusual. 

Pretty  soon  we  heard  the  fire-engine 
coming,  and  Amelia  Powers  cried  out: 
"Oh,  it's  going  to  Mrs.  Liscom's!  It's 
her  house !     It's  Mrs.  Liscom's  house !  " 

Candace  Powers  put  her  head  farther 
out  of  the  window,  and  screamed  in  a 
queer  voice  that  echoed  like  a  parrot's, 
"  Oh,  'Melia !  'Melia !  it's  Mrs.  Liscom's, 
it's  Mrs.  Liscom's,  and  the  wind's  this 
way !  Come,  quick,  and  help  me  get  out 
the  best  feather  bed,  and  the  counterpane 
that  mother  knit !    Quick !    Quick !  w 

Amelia  had  to  run  in  and  quiet  Can- 
dace,  who  was  very  apt  to  have  a  bad 
spell  when  she  was  over-excited,  and  the 
rest  of  us  started  for  the  fire. 

As  we  hurried  down  the  street  I  asked 

Mrs.  Jones  how  she  had  known  there  was 

a  fire  in  the  first  place,  for  I  supposed 

that  was  why  she  had  run  out  to  her  front 

141 


They  Arrive 

dcor  and  looked  down  the  street.  Then 
I  learned  about  the  city  boarders.  She 
and  Amelia,  from  the  way  they  faced  at 
their  sitting-room  windows,  had  seen  the 
Grover  stage-coach  stop  at  Mrs.  Liscom's, 
and  had  run  out  to  see  the  boarders 
alight.  Mrs.  Jones  said  there  were  five 
of  them — the  mother,  grandmother,  two 
daughters,  and  a  son. 

I  said  that  I  did  not  know  Mrs.  Lis- 
com  was  going  to  take  boarders;  I  was 
very  much  surprised. 

"  I  suppose  she  thought  she  would  earn 
some  money  and  have  some  extra  things," 
said  Mrs.  Jones. 

"  It  must  have  been  that,"  said  Mrs. 
Ketch  urn,  panting — she  was  almost  out  of 
breath — "  for,  of  course,  the  Liscoms  don't 
need  the  money." 

I  laughed  and  said  I  thought  not.  I 
felt  a  little  pride  about  it,  because  Mrs. 
Liscom  was  a  second  cousin  of  my  hus- 
band, and  he  used  to  think  a  great  deal 
cf  her. 

142 


The  Jamesons 

"They  must  own  that  nbe  place  clear, 
if  it  ain't  going  to  bum  to  the  ground, 
and  have  something  in  the  bank  besides," 
assented  Mrs.  Peter  Jones. 

Ever  so  many  people  were  running 
down  the  street  with  us,  and  th^  air 
seemed  full  of  that  brazen  clang  cf  the 
fire-bell;  still  we  could  not  see  any  fire,, 
nor  even  smell  any  smoke,  until  we  got 
to  the  head  of  the  lane  where  the  Liscom 
house  stands  a  few  rods  from  the  main 
street. 

The  lane  was  about  choked  up  with  the 
fire-engine,  the  hose- cart,  the  fire  depart- 
ment in  their  red  shirts,  and,  I  should 
think,  half  the  village.  We  climbed 
over  the  stone  wall  into  Mrs.  Liscom's 
oat-field;  it  was  hard  work  for  Mrs. 
Ketchum,  but  Mrs.  Jones  and  I  pushed 
and  Adeline  pulled,  and  then  we  ran 
along  close  to  the  wall  toward  the  house. 
We  certainly  began  to  smell  smoke, 
though  we  still  could  not  see  any  fire. 
The  firemen  were  racing  in  and  out  of 
143 


They  Arrive 

the  house,  bringing  out  the  furniture,  as 
were  some  of  the  village  boys,  and  the 
engine  was  playing  upon  the  south  end, 
where  the  kitchen  is. 

Mrs.  Peter  Jones,  who  is  very  small 
and  alert,  said  suddenly  that  it  looked  to 
her  as  if  'die  smoke  were  coming  out  of 
the  kitchen  chimney,  but  Mrs.  Ketchum 
said  of  course  it  was  on  lire  inside  in  the 
woodwork.  "  Oh,  only  to  think  of  Mrs. 
Liscom's  nice  house  being  all  burned  up, 
and  what  a  dreadful  reception  for  those 
boarders !  "  she  groaned  out. 

I  never  saw  sunh  a  hubbub,  and  appar- 
ently over  nothing  at  all,  as  there  was. 
There  was  a  steady  yell  of  fire  from  a 
crowd  of  boys  who  seemed  to  enjoy  it; 
the  water  was  swishing,  the  firemen's 
arms  were  pumping  in  unison,  and  every- 
body generally  running  in  aimless  circles 
like  a  swarm  of  ants.  Then  we  saw  the 
boarders  coming  out.  "Oh,  the  house 
must  be  all  in  a  light  blaze  inside  1  * 
groaned  Mrs.  Ketchum. 
i44 


The  Jamesons 

There  were  five  of  the  boarders.  The 
mother,  a  large,  fair  woman  with  a  long, 
massive  face,  her  reddish  hair  crinkling 
and  curling  around  it  in  a  sort  of  ivy- 
tendril  fashion,  came  first.  Her  two 
daughters,  in  blue  gowns,  with  pretty, 
agitated  faces,  followed ;  then  the  young 
son,  fairly  teetering  with  excitement; 
then  the  grandmother,  a  little,  tremulous 
old  lady  in  an  auburn  wig. 

The  woman  at  the  head  carried  a 
bucket,  and  what  should  she  do  but  form 
her  family  into  a  line  toward  the  well  at 
the  north  side  of  the  house  where  we 
were  I 

Of  course,  the  family  did  not  nearly 
reach  to  the  well,  and  she  beckoned  to 
us  imperatively.  "  Come  immediately ! " 
said  she ;  "  if  the  men  of  this  village  have 
no  head  in  an  emergency  like  this,  let  the 
women  arise !     Come  immediately. " 

So  Mrs.  Peter  Jones,  Mrs.  Ketchum, 
Adeline,  and  I  stepped  into  the  line,  and 
the  mother  boarder  filled  the  bucket  at 
*45 


They  Arrive 

the  well,  and  we  passed  it  back  from  hand 
to  hand,  and  the  boy  at  the  end  flung  it 
into  Mrs.  Liscom's  front  entry  all  over 
her  nice  carpet. 

Then  suddenly  we  saw  Caroline  Liscom 
appear.  She  snatched  the  bucket  out  of 
the  hands  of  the  boy  boarder  and  gave  it 
a  toss  into  the  lilac-bush  beside  the  door; 
then  she  stood  there,  looking  as  I  had 
never  seen  her  look  before.  Caroline 
Liscom  lias  always  had  the  reputation  of 
being  a  woman  of  a  strong  character;  she 
is  manifestly  the  head  of  her  family.  It 
is  always,  "Mrs.  Liscom's  house,"  and 
"Mrs.  Liscom's  property,"  instead  of  Mr. 
Liscom's. 

It  is  always  understood  that,  though 
Mr.  Liscom  is  the  nominal  voter  in  town 
matters,  not  a  selectman  goes  into  office 
with  Mr.  Liscom's  vote  unless  it  is  au- 
thorized by  Mrs.  Liscom.  Mr.  Liscom 
is,  so  to  speak,  seldom  taken  without 
Mrs.  Liscom's  indorsement. 

Of  course,  Mrs.  Liscom  being  such  a 
146 


The  Jamesons 

character  has  always  more  or  less  author- 
ity in  her  bearing,  but  that  day  she  dis- 
played a  real  majesty  which  I  had  never 
seen  in  her  before.  She  stood  there  a 
second,  then  she  turned  and  made  a  back- 
ward and  forward  motion  of  her  arm  as 
if  she  were  sweeping,  and  directly  red- 
shirted  firemen  and  boys  began  to  fly  out 
of  the  house  as  if  impelled  by  it. 

"You  just  get  out  cf  my  house;  every 
one  of  you ! "  said  Caroline  in  a  loud  but 
slow  voice,  as  if  she  were  so  augry  that 
she  was  fairly  reining  herself  in ;  and  they 
got  out.  Then  she  called  to  the  firemen 
who  were  working  the  engine,  and  they 
heard  her  above  all  the  uproar. 

"You  stop  drenching  my  house  with 
water,  and  go  home !  "  said  she. 

Everybody  began  to  hush  and  stare, 
but  Tommy  Gregg  gave  one  squeaking 
cry  of  fire  as  if  in  defiance. 

"There  is  no  fire,"  said  Caroline  Lis- 
com.  "My  house  is  not  on  fire,  and  has 
not  been  on  fire.  I  am  getting  tea,  and 
i47 


They   Arrive 

the  kitchen  chimney  always  smokes  when 
the  wind  is  west.  I  don't  thank  you, 
any  of  you,  for  coming  here  and  turning 
my  house  upside  down  and  drenching  it 
with  water,  and  lugging  my  furniture  out- 
of-doors.  Now  you  can  go  home.  I  don't 
see  what  fool  ever  sent  you  here ! " 

The  engine  stopped  playing,  and  you 
could  hear  the  water  dripping  off  the 
south  end  of  the  house.  The  windows 
were  streaming  as  if  there  had  been  a 
shower.  Everybody  looked  abashed,  aud 
the  chief  engineer  of  the  fire  department — ■ 
who  is  a  little  nervous  man  who  always 
works  as  if  the  river  were  on  lire  and  he 
had  started  it — asked  meekly  if  they 
shouldn't  bring  the  furniture  back. 

"No,"  said  Caroline  Liscom,  "I  want 
you  to  go  home,  and  that  is  all  I  do  want 
of  you." 

Then  the  mother  boarder  spoke — she 

was  evidently  not  easily  put  down.     M  I 

refuse  to  return  to  the  house  or  to  allow 

my  family  to  do  so  unless  I  am  officially 

148 


The  Jamesons 

notified  by  the  fire  department  that  the 
fire  is  extinguished,"  said  she. 

"Then  you  can  stay  out-of-doors,"  said 
Caroline  Liscom,  and  we  all  gasped  to  hear 
her,  though  we  secretly  admired  her  for  it. 

The  boarder  glared  at  her  in  a  curious 
kind  of  way,  like  a  broadside  of  stoniness, 
but  Caroline  did  not  seem  to  mind  it  at 
all.  Then  the  boarder  changed  her  tactics 
like  a  general  on  the  verge  of  defeat.  She 
sidled  up  to  Mr.  Spear,  the  chief  engineer, 
who  was  giving  orders  to  drag  home  the 
engine,  and  said  in  an  unexpectedly  sweet 
voice,  like  a  trickle  of  honey  off  the  face 
of  a  rock :  "  My  good  man,  am  I  to  un- 
derstand that  I  need  apprehend  no  further 
danger  from  fire !  I  ask  for  the  sake  of 
my  precious  family." 

Mr.  Spear  looked  at  her  as  if  she  had 
spoken  to  him  in  Choctaw,  and  she  was 
obliged  to  ask  him  over  again.  "My 
good  man,"  said  she,  "is  the  fire  out?  " 

Mr.  Spear  looked  at  her  as  if  he  were 
half  daft  then,  but  he  answered:  "Yes, 
149 


They  Arrive 

ma'am,  yes,  ma'am,  certainly,  ma'am,  no 
danger  at  all,  ma'am."  Then  he  went  on 
ordering  the  men :  "  A  leetle  more  to  the 
right,  boys !     All  together !  " 

"Thank  you,  my  good  man,  your  word 
is  sutiicient,"  said  the  boarder,  though 
Mr.  Spear  did  not  seem  to  hear  her. 

Then  she  sailed  into  the  house,  and  her 
son,  her  two  daughters,  and  the  grand- 
mother after  her.  Mrs.  Peter  Jones  and 
Adeline  and  her  mother  went  home,  but 
I  ventured,  since  I  was  a  sort  of  relation, 
to  go  in  and  offer  to  help  Caroline  set 
things  to  rights.  She  thanked  me,  and 
said  that  she  did  not  want  any  help; 
when  Jacob  and  Harry  came  home  they 
would  set  the  furniture  in  out  of  the  yard. 

"  I  am  sorry  for  you,  Caroline,"  said  T. 

"  Look  at  my  house,  Sophia  Lane,"  said 
she,  and  that  was  all  she  would  say.  She 
shut  her  mouth  tight  over  that.  That 
lior.se  was  enough  to  make  a  strong- 
minded  woman  like  Caroline  dumb,  and 
jbend  a  weak  one  into  hysterics.     It  was 


The  Jamesons 

dripping  with  water,  and  nearly  all  the 
furniture  out  in  the  yard  piled  up  pell- 
mell.  I  could  not  see  how  she  was  going 
to  get  supper  for  the  boarders :  the  kitchen 
fire  was  out  and  the  stove  drenched,  with 
a  panful  of  biscuits  in  the  oven. 

"  What  are  you  going  to  give  them  for 
supper,  Caroline  ? "  said  I,  and  she  just 
shook  her  head.  I  knew  that  those 
boarders  would  have  to  take  what  they 
could  get,  or  go  without. 

When  Caroline  was  in  any  difficulty 
there  never  was  any  help  for  her,  except 
from  the  working  of  circumstances  to  their 
own  salvation.  I  thought  I  might  as  well 
go  home.  I  offered  to  give  her  some  pie 
or  cake  if  he^s  were  spoiled,  but  she  only 
shook  he^:  nead  again,  and  I  knew  she 
must  have  some  stored  away  in  the  parlor 
china-closet,  where  the  water  had  not 
penetrated. 

I  went  through  the  house  to  the  front 
entry,  thinking  I  would  go  out  the  front 
door — the  side  one  was  dripping  as  if  it 
i5l 


They  Arrive 

were  under  a  waterfall.  Just  as  I  reached 
it  I  heard  a  die-away  voice  from  the  front 
chamber  say,  "My  good  woman." 

I  did  not  dream  that  I  was  addressed, 
never  having  been  called  by  that  name, 
though  always  having  hoped  that  I  was  a 
good  woman. 

So  I  kept  right  on.  Then  I  heard  a 
despairing  sigh,  and  the  voice  said,  "  You 
speak  to  her,  Harriet." 

Then  I  heard  another  voice,  very  sweet 
and  a  little  timid,  "  Will  you  please  step 
upstairs?  Mamma  wishes  to  speak  to 
you." 

I  began  to  wouder  if  they  were  talking 
to  me.  I  looked  up,  and  there  discovered 
a  pretty,  innocent,  rosy  little  face,  peering 
over  the  balustrade  at  the  head  of  the 
stairs.  "  Will  you  please  step  upstairs  ? " 
said  she  again,  in  the  same  sweet  tones. 
"Mamma  wishes  to  speak  to  you." 

I  have  a  little  weakness  of  the  heartt 
and  do  not  like  to  climb  stairs  more  than 
I  am  positively  obliged  to ;  it  always  puts 

2  i  r  2 


The  Jamesons 

me  so  out  of  breath.  I  sleep  downstairs 
on  that  account.  I  looked  at  Caroline's 
front  stairs,  which  are  rather  steep,  with 
some  hesitation.  I  felt  shaken,  too,  on 
account  of  the  alarm  of  fire.  Then  I 
heard  the  first  voice  again  with  a  sort  of 
languishing  authority :  "  My  good  woman, 
will  you  be  so  kind  as  to  step  upstairs 
immediately  ?  " 

I  went  upstairs.  The  girl  who  had 
spoken  to  me — I  found  afterward  that  she 
was  the  elder  of  the  daughters — motioned 
me  to  go  into  the  north  chamber.  I 
found  them  all  there.  The  mother,  Mrs. 
H.  Boardman  Jameson,  as  I  afterward 
knew  her  name  to  be,  was  lying  on  the 
bed,  her  head  propped  high  with  pillows ; 
the  younger  daughter  was  fanning  her, 
and  she  was  panting  softly  as  if  she  were 
almost  exhausted.  The  grandmother  sat 
beside  the  north  window,  with  a  paper- 
covered  book  on  her  knees.  She  was  eat- 
ing something  from  a  little  white  box  on 
the  window-sill.  The  boy  was  at  an- 
i53 


They  Arrive 

other  window,  also  with  a  book  in  which 
he  did  not  seem  to  be  interested.  He 
looked  up  at  me,  as  I  entered,  with  a  most 
peculiar  expression  of  mingled  innocence 
and  shyness  which  was  almost  terror.  I 
could  not  see  why  the  boy  should  possi- 
bly be  afraid  of  me,  but  I  learned  after- 
ward.that  it  was  either  his  natural  atti- 
tude or  natural  expression.  He  was  either 
afraid  of  every  mortal  thing  or  else  ap- 
peared to  be.  The  singular  elevated  arch 
of  his  eyebrows  over  his  wide-open  blue 
eyes,  and  his  mouth,  which  was  always 
parted  a  little,  no  doubt  served  to  give 
this  impression.  He  was  a  pretty  boy, 
with  a  fair  pink-and-white  complexion, 
and  long  hair  curled  like  a  girl's,  which 
looked  odd  to  me,  for  he  was  quite  large. 
Mrs.  Jameson  beckoned  me  up  to  the 
bed  with  one  languid  finger,  as  if  she 
could  not  possibly  do  more.  I  began  to 
think  that  perhaps  she  had  some  trouble 
with  her  heart  like  myself,  and  the  fire  had 
overcome  her,  and  I  felt  very  sympathetic. 
*54 


The  Jamesons 

"  I  am  sorry  you  have  had  such  an  un- 
pleasant experience, "  I  began,  but  she  cut 
me  short. 

"My  good  woman,"  said  she  in  little 
more  than  a  whisper,  "  do  you  know  of 
any  house  in  a  sanitary  location  where 
we  can  obtain  board  immediately  ?  I  am 
very  particular  about  the  location.  There 
must  be  no  standing  water  near  the  house, 
there  must  not  be  trees  near  on  account 
of  the  dampness,  the  neighbors  must  not 
keep  hens — of  course,  the  people  of  the 
house  must  not  keep  hens — and  the  wom- 
an must  have  an  even  temper.  I  must 
particularly  insist  upon  an  even  temper. 
My  nerves  are  exceedingly  weak ;  I  can- 
not endure  such  a  rasping  manner  as  that 
which  I  have  encountered  to-day. " 

When  she  stopped  and  looked  at  me 
for  an  answer  I  was  so  astonished  that  I 
did  not  know  what  to  say.  There  she 
was,  just  arrived ;  had  not  eaten  one  meal 
in  the  house,  and  wanting  to  find  another 
boarding-place. 


They   Arrive 

Finally  I  said,  rather  stupidly  I  sup- 
pose, that  I  doubted  if  she  could  find 
another  boarding-place  in  our  village  as 
good  as  the  one  which  she  already  had. 

She  gave  another  sigh,  as  if  of  the  most 
determined  patience.  "  Have  I  not  al- 
ready told  you,  my  good  woman,"  said 
she, "  that  I  cannot  endure  such  a  rasping 
manner  and  voice  as  that  of  the  woman 
of  the  house  ?  It  is  most  imperative  that 
I  have  another  boarding-place  at  once." 

She  said  this  in  a  manner  which  net- 
tled me  a  little,  as  if  I  had  boarding- 
places,  for  which  she  had  paid  liberally 
and  had  a  right  to  demand,  in  my  hand, 
and  was  withholding  them  from  her.  I 
replied  that  I  knew  of  no  other  boarding- 
place  of  any  kind  whatsoever  in  the  vil- 
lage. Then  she  looked  at  me  in  what  I 
suppose  was  meant  to  be  an  ingratiating 
way. 

"My  good  woman,"  said  she,  "you 
look  very  neat  and  tidy  yourself,  and  I 
don't  doubt  are  a  good  plain  cook;  I  am 
>5<5 


The  Jamesons 

willing  to  try  your  house  if  it  is  net  sur- 
rounded by  trees  and  there  is  no  standing 
water  near;  I  do  not  object  to  running 
water. " 

In  the  midst  of  this  speech  the  elder 
daughter  had  said  in  a  frightened  way, 
"Oh,  mamma!  "  but  her  mother  had  paid 
no  attention.  As  for  myself,  I  was  angry. 
The  memory  of  my  two  years  at  VVard- 
ville  Young  Ladies'  Seminary  in  my 
youth  and  my  frugally  independent  life 
as  wife  and  widow  was  strong  upon  me. 
I  had  read  and  improved  my  mind.  I 
was  a  prominent  member  of  the  Ladies' 
Literary  Society  of  our  village:  I  wrote 
papers  which  were  read  at  tjie  meetings ; 
I  felt,  in  reality,  not  one  whit  below  Mrs. 
H.  Boardman  Jameson,  and,  moreover, 
large  sleeves  were  the  fashion,  and  my 
sleeves  were  every  bit  as  large  as  hers, 
though  she  had  just  come  from  the  city. 
That  added  to  my  conviction  of  my  own 
importance. 

"  Madam,"  said  I,  "  I  do  not  take  board- 
*57 


They  Arrive 

ers.  I  have  never  taken  boarders,  and  I 
never  shall  take  boarders. "  Then  I  turned 
and  went  out  of  the  room,  and  downstairs^ 
with,  it  seemed  to  me,  much  dignity. 

However,  Mrs.  Jameson  was  not  im- 
pressed by  it,  for  she  called  after  me :  "  My 
good  woman,  will  you  please  tell  Mrs. 
Liscom  that  I  must  have  some  hot  water 
to  make  my  health  food  with  imme- 
diately? Tell  her  to  send  up  a  pitcher  at 
once,  very  hot." 

I  did  not  tell  Caroline  about  the  hot 
water.  I  left  that  for  them  to  manage 
themselves.  I  did  not  care  to  mention 
hot  water  with  Caroline's  stove  as  wet  as 
if  it  had  been  dipped  in  the  pond,  even  if 
I  had  not  been  too  indignant  at  the  per- 
sistent ignoring  of  my  own  dignity.  I 
went  home  and  found  Louisa  Field,  my 
brother's  widow,  and  her  little  daughter 
Alice,  who  live  with  me,  already  there. 
Louisa  keeps  the  district  school,  and  with 
her  salaryr,  besides  the  little  which  my 
brother  left  her,  gets  aloug  very  comfort- 


The  Jamesons 

ably.  I  have  a  small  sum  in  bank,  besides 
my  house,  and  we  have  plenty  to  live  on, 
even  if  we  don't  have  much  to  spare. 

Louisa  was  full  of  excitement  over  the 
false  alarm  of  fire,  and  had  heard  a  rea- 
son for  it  which  we  never  fairly  knew  to 
be  true,  though  nearly  all  the  village  be- 
lieved it.  It  seems  that  the  little  Jame- 
son boy,  so  the  story  ran,  had  peeped  into 
the  kitchen  and  had  seen  it  full  of  smoke 
from  Caroline's  smoky  chimney  when  she 
was  kindling  the  fire ;  then  had  run  out 
into  the  yard,  and  seeing  the  smoke  out 
there  too,  and  being  of  such  an  exceed- 
ingly timid  temperament,  had  run  out  to 
the  head  of  the  lane  calling  fire,  and  had 
there  met  Tommy  Gregg,  who  had  spread 
the  alarm  and  been  the  means  of  calling 
out  the  fire  department. 

Indeed,  the  story  purported  to  come 
from  Tommy  Gregg,  who  declared  that 
the  boy  at  Liscom's  had  "hollered  "  fire, 
and  when  he  was  asked  where  it  was  had 
told  him  at  Liscom's.  However  that  may 
159 


They  Arrive 

have  been,  I  looked  around  at  our  humble 
little  home,  at  the  lounge  which  I  had 
covered  myself,  at  the  threadbare  carpet 
on  the  sitting-room  floor,  at  the  wall- 
paper which  was  put  on  the  year  before 
my  husband  died,  at  the  vases  on  the 
shelf,  which  had  belonged  to  my  mother, 
and  I  was  very  thankful  that  I  did  not 
care  for  "  extra  things  "  or  new  furniture 
and  carpets  enough  to  take  boarders  who 
made  one  feel  as  if  one  were  simply  a 
colonist  of  their  superior  state,  and  the 
Kepublic  was  over  and  gone. 


60 


n 

WE  BECOME  ACQUAINTED  WITH  THEM 

It  was  certainly  rather  unfortunate,  as 
far  as  the  social  standing  of  the  Jamesons 
among  us  was  concerned,  that  they 
brought  Grandma  Cobb  with  them. 

Everybody  spoke  of  her  as  Grandma 
Cobb  before  she  had  been  a  week  in  the 
village.  Mrs.  H.  Boardman  Jameson  al- 
ways called  her  Madam  Cobb,  but  that 
made  no  difference.  People  in  our  vil- 
lage had  not  been  accustomed  to  address 
old  ladies  as  madam,  and  they  did  not 
take  kindly  to  it.  Grandma  Cobb  was  of 
a  very  sociable  disposition,  and  she  soon 
developed  the  habit  of  dropping  into  the 
village  houses  at  all  hours  of  the  day  and 
evening.  She  was  an  early  riser,  and  all 
the  rest  of  her  family  slept  late,  and  she 
161 


We  Become  Acquainted 

probably  found  it  lonesome.  She  often 
made  a  call  as  early  as  eight  o'clock  in 
the  morning,  and  she  came  as  late  as  ten 
o'clock  in  the  evening  When  she  came 
in  the  morning  she  talked,  and  when  she 
came  in  the  evening  she  sat  in  her  chair 
and  nodded.  She  often  kept  the  whole 
family  up,  and  it  was  less  exasperating 
when  she  came  in  the  morning,  though  it 
was  unfortunate  for  the  Jamesons. 

If  a  bulletin  devoted  to  the  biography 
of  the  Jameson  family  had  been  posted 
every  week  on  the  wall  of  the  town  house 
it  could  have  been  no  more  explicit  than 
was  Grandma  Cobb.  Whether  we  would 
or  not  we  soon  knew  all  about  them ;  the 
knowledge  was  fairly  forced  upon  us. 
We  knew  that  Mr.  II.  Boardman  Jameson 
had  been  very  wealthy,  but  had  lost  most 
of  his  money  the  year  before  through  the 
failure  of  a  bank.  We  knew  that  his 
wealth  had  all  been  inherited,  and  that 
he  would  never  have  been,  in  Grandma 
Cobb's  opinion,  capable  of  earning  it  him- 
162 


The  Jamesons 

self.  We  knew  that  lie  had  obtained, 
through  the  influence  of  friends,  a  posi- 
tion in  the  custom-house,  and  we  knew 
the  precise  amount  of  his  salary.  We 
knew  that  the  Jamesons  had  been  obliged 
to  give  up  their  palatial  apartments  in 
New  York  and  take  a  humble  flat  in  a 
less  fashionable  part  of  the  city.  We 
knew  that  they  had  always  spent  their 
summers  at  their  own  place  at  the  sea- 
shore, and  that  this  was  the  first  season 
of  their  sojourn  in  a  little  country  village 
in  a  plain  house.  We  knew  how  hard  a 
struggle  it  had  been  for  them  to  come  here ; 
we  knew  just  how  much  they  paid  for  their 
board,  how  Mrs.  Jameson  never  wanted 
anything  for  breakfast  but  an  egg  and  a 
hygienic  biscuit,  and  had  health  food  in 
the  middle  of  the  forenoon  and  afternoon. 
We  also  knew  just  how  old  they  all 
were,  and  how  the  H.  in  Mr.  Jameson's 
name  stood  for  Hiram.  We  knew  that 
Mrs.  Jameson  had  never  liked  the  name 
— might,  in  fact,  have  refused  to  marry 
163 


We  Become  Acquainted 

on  that  score  had  not  Grandma  Cobb 
reasoned  with  her  and  told  her  that  he 
was  a  worthy  man  with  money,  and  she 
not  as  young  as  she  had  been ;  and  how 
she  compromised  by  always  using  the  ab- 
breviation, both  in  writing  and  speaking. 
"She  always  calls  him  H,"  said  Grandma 
Cobb,  "and  I  tell  her  sometimes  it  doesn't 
look  quite  respectful  to  speak  to  her  hus- 
band a.s  if  he  were  a  part  of  the  alphabet." 
Grandma  Cobb,  if  the  truth  had  been  told, 
was  always  in  a  state  of  covert  rebellion 
against  her  daughter. 

Grandma  Cobb  was  always  dressed  in 
a  black  silk  gown  which  seemed  sumptu- 
ous to  the  women  of  our  village.  They 
could  scarcely  reconcile  it  with  the  state- 
ment that  the  Jamesons  had  lost  their 
money.  Black  silk  of  a  morning  was 
stupendous  to  them,  when  they  reflected 
how  they  had,  at  the  utmost,  but  one 
black  silk,  and  that  guarded  as  if  it  were 
cloth  of  gold,  worn  only  upon  the  grand- 
est occasions,  and  designed,  as  they  knew 
164 


The  Jamesons 

in  their  secret  hearts,  though  they  did  not 
proclaim  it,  for  their  last  garment  of 
earth.  Grandma  Cobb  always  wore  a  fine 
lace  cap  also,  which  should,  according  to 
the  opinions  of  the  other  old  ladies  of  the 
village,  have  been  kept  sacred  for  other 
women's  weddings  or  her  own  funeral. 
She  used  her  best  gold-bowed  spectacles 
every  day,  and  was  always  leaving  them 
behind  her  in  the  village  houses,  pud  lit- 
tle Tommy  or  Annie  had  to  run  after  her 
with  a  charge  not  to  lose  them,  for  no- 
body knew  how  much  they  cost. 

Grandma  Cobb  always  carried  about 
with  her  a  paper-covered  novel  and  a 
box  of  cream  peppermints.  She  ate  tlie 
peppermints  and  freely  bestowed  them 
upon  others;  the  novel  she  never  read. 
She  said  quite  openly  that  she  only  car- 
ried it  about  to  please  her  daughter,  who 
had  literary  tastes.  "She  belongs  to  a 
Shakespeare  Club,  and  a  Browning  Club, 
and  a  Current  Literature  Club,"  said 
Grandma  Cobb. 

i65 


We  Become  Acquainted 

We  concluded  that  she  had,  feeling  al- 
together incapable  of  even  carrying  about 
Shakespeare  and  Browning,  compromised 
with  peppermints  and  current  literature. 

"  That  book  must  be  current  literature," 
said  Mrs.  Ketchum  one  day,  "  but  I  looked 
into  it  when  she  was  at  our  house,  and  I 
should  not  want  Adeline  to  read  it." 

After  a  while  people  looked  upon 
Grandma  Cobb's  book  with  suspicion ;  but 
since  she  always  carried  it,  thereby  keep- 
ing it  from  her  grandchildren,  and  never 
read  it,  we  agreed  that  it  could  not  do 
much  harm. 

The  very  first  time  that  I  saw  Grandma 
Cobb,  at  Caroline  Liscom's,  she  had  that 
book.  I  knew  it  by  the  red  cover  and 
a  baking-powder  advertisement  on  the 
back ;  and  the  next  time  also — that  was 
it  the  seventeenth-of-June  picnic. 

The  whole    Jameson   family  went  to 

the  picnic,  rather  to  our  surprise.     I  think 

}«eople  had  a  fancy  that  Mrs.  II.  Board  - 

man  Jameson  would  be  above  our  little 

iGG 


The  Jamesons 

Tural  picnic.  We  had  yet  to  understand 
Mrs.  Jameson,  and  learn  that,  however 
much  she  really  held  herself  above  and 
aloof,  she  had  not  the  slightest  intention 
of  letting  us  alone,  perhaps  because  she 
thoroughly  believed  in  her  own  non- 
mixable  quality.  Of  course  it  would  al- 
ways be  quite  safe  for  oil  to  go  to  a  picnic 
with  water,  no  matter  how  exclusive  it 
might  be. 

The  picnic  was  in  Leonard's  grove,  and 
young  and  old  were  asked.  The  seven- 
teenth-of- June  picnic  is  a  regular  institu- 
tion in  our  village.  I  went  with  Louisa, 
and  little  Alice  in  her  new  white  muslin 
dress;  the  child  had  been  counting  on  it 
for  weeks.  We  were  nearly  all  assem- 
bled when  the  Jamesons  arrived.  Half  a 
dozen  of  us  had  begun  to  lay  the  table 
for  luncheon,  though  we  were  not  to  have 
it  for  an  hour  or  two.  We  always 
thought  it  a  good  plan  to  make  all  our 
preparations  in  season.  We  were  collect- 
ing the  baskets  and  boxes,  and  it  did  look 
167 


We  Become  Acquainted 

as  if  we  were  to  have  au  unusual  feast 
that  year.  Those  which  we  peeped  in- 
to appeared  especially  tempting.  Mrs. 
Nathan  Butters  had  brought  a  great  loaf 
of  her  rich  fruit  cake,  a  kind  for  which 
she  is  famous  in  the  village,  and  Mrs. 
Sim  White  had  brought  two  of  her 
whipped-cream  pies.  Mrs.  Ketchum  had 
brought  six  mince  pies,  which  were  a  real 
rarity  in  June,  and  Flora  Clark  had 
brought  a  six-quart  pail  full  of  those 
jumbles  she  makes,  so  rich  that  if  you 
drop  one  it  crumbles  to  pieces.  Then 
there  were  two  great  pinky  hams  and  a 
number  of  chickens.  Louisa  and  I  had 
brought  a  chicken ;  we  had  one  of  ours 
killed,  and  I  had  roasted  it  the  day  be- 
fore. 

I  remarked  to  Mrs.  Ketchum  that  we 
should  have  an  unusually  nice  dinner; 
and  so  we  should  have  had  if  it  had  not 
been  for  Mrs.  H.  Boardman  Jameson. 

The  Jamesons  came  driving  into  the 
grove  in  the  Liscom  carryall  and  their 
3  168 


The  Jamesons 

buggy.  Mr.  Jacob  Liscom  was  in  charge 
of  the  carryall,  and  the  Jameson  boy  was 
on  the  front  seat  with  him ;  on  the  back 
seat  were  Grandma,  or  Madam  Cobb,  and 
the  younger  daughter.  Harry  Liscom 
drove  the  bay  horse  in  the  buggy,  and 
Mrs.  Jameson  and  Harriet  were  with 
him,  he  sitting  between  them,  very  un- 
comfortably, as  it  appeared — his  knees 
were  touching  the  dasher,  as  he  is  a  tall 
young  man. 

Caroline  Liscom  did  not  come,  and  I 
did  not  wonder  at  it  for  one.  She  must 
have  thought  it  a  good  chance  to  rest  one 
day  from  taking  boarders.  We  were  sur- 
prised that  Mrs.  Jameson,  since  she  is 
such  a  stout  woman,  did  not  go  in  the 
carryall,  and  let  either  her  younger  daugh- 
ter or  the  boy  go  with  Harry  and  Harriet 
in  the  buggy.  We  heard  afterward  that 
she  thought  it  necessary  that  she  should 
go  with  them  as  a  chaperon.  That 
seemed  a  little  strange  to  us,  since  our 
village  girls  were  all  so  well  conducted 
169 


We  Become  Acquainted 

that  we  thought  nothing  of  their  going 
buggy-riding  with  a  good  young  man  like 
Harry  Lis  com;  he  is  a  church  member 
and  prominent  in  the  Sunday-school,  and 
this  was  in  broad  daylight  and  the  road 
full  of  other  carriages.  So  people  stared 
and  smiled  a  little  to  see  Harry  driving 
in  with  his  knees  braced  against  the 
dasher,  and  the  buggy  canting  to  one  side 
with  the  weight  of  Mrs.  H.  Boardman 
Jameson.  He  looked  rather  shamefaced, 
I  thought,  though  he  is  a  handsome, 
brave  young  fellow,  and  commonly  car- 
ries himself  boldly  enough.  Harriet 
Jameson  looked  very  pretty,  though  her 
eostume  was  not,  to  my  way  of  thinking, 
quite  appropriate.  However,  I  suppose 
that  she  was  not  to  blame,  poor  child, 
and  it  may  easily  be  more  embarrassing 
to  have  old  fine  clothes  than  old  poor 
ones.  Really,  Harriet  Jameson  would 
have  looked  better  dressed  that  day  in  an 
old  calico  gown  than  the  old  silk  one 
which  she  wore.  Her  waist  was  blue 
170 


The  Jamesons 

Bilk  with  some  limp  chiffon  at  the  neck 
and  sleeves,  and  her  skirt  was  old  brown 
silk  all  frayed  at  the  bottom  and  very 
shiny.  There  were  a  good  many  spots  on 
it,  too,  and  some  mud  stains,  though  it 
had  not  rained  for  two  weeks. 

However,  the  girl  looked  pretty,  and 
her  hair  was  done  with  a  stylish  air,  and 
she  wore  her  old  Leghorn  hat,  with  its 
wreath  of  faded  French  flowers,  in  a  way 
which  was  really  beyond  our  girls. 

And  as  for  Harry  Liscom,  it  was  plain 
enough  to  be  seen  that,  aside  from  his 
discomfiture  at  the  close  attendance  of 
Mrs.  H.  Boardman  Jameson,  he  was  bliss* 
fully  satisfied  and  admiring.  I  was  rather 
sorry  to  see  it  on  his  account,  though  I 
had  nothing  against  the  girl.  I  think,  on 
general  principles,  that  it  is  better  usually 
for  a  young  man  of  our  village  to  marry 
one  of  his  own  sort;  that  he  has  a  better 
chance  of  contentment  and  happiness. 
However,  in  this  case  it  seemed  quite 
likely  that  there  would  be  no  chance  of 
'7* 


We  Become  Acquainted 

married  happiness  at  all.  It  did  not 
look  probable  that  Mrs.  H.  Boardman 
Jameson  would  smile  upon  her  eldest 
daughter's  marriage  with  the  son  of  "a 
good  woman,"  and  I  was  not  quite  sure 
as  to  what  Caroline  Liscom  would  say. 

Mr.  Jacob  Liscom  is  a  pleasant-faced, 
mild-eyed  man,  very  tall  and  slender. 
He  lifted  out  the  Jameson  buy,  who  did 
not  jump  out  over  the  wheel,  as  boys 
generally  do  when  arriving  at  a  picnic, 
and  then  he  tipped  over  the  front  seat 
and  helped  out  Madam  Cobb,  and  the 
younger  daughter,  whose  name  was  Sarah. 
We  had  not  thought  much  of  such  old- 
fashioned  names  as  Harriet  and  Sarah  for 
some  years  past  in  our  village,  and  it 
seemed  rather  odd  taste  in  these  city 
people.  We  considered  Hattie  and  Sadie 
much  prettier.  Generally  the  Harriets 
and  Sarahs  endured  only  in  the  seclusion 
of  the  family  Bible  and  the  baptismal 
records.  Quite  a  number  of  the  ladies 
had  met  Mrs.  Jameson,  having  either 
172 


The  Jamesons 

called  at  Mrs.  Lis  corn's  and  seen  her 
there,  or  having  spoken  to  her  at  church ; 
and  as  for  Grandma  Cobb,  she  had  had 
time  to  visit  nearly  every  house  in  the 
village,  as  I  knew,  though  she  had  not 
been  to  mine.  Grandma  Cobb  got  out, 
all  smiling,  and  Jacob  Liscom  handed 
her  the  box  of  peppermints  and  the  paper- 
covered  novel,  and  then  Harry  Liscom 
helped  out  Harriet  and  her  mother. 

Mrs.  Jameson  walked  straight  up  to  us 
who  were  laying  the  table,  and  Harry 
followed  her  with  a  curiously  abashed 
expression,  carrying  a  great  tin  cracker- 
box  in  one  hand  and  a  large  basket  in 
the  other.  We  said  good-morning  as 
politely  as  we  knew  how  to  Mrs.  Jame- 
son, and  she  returned  it  with  a  brisk  air 
which  rather  took  our  breaths  away,  it 
was  so  indicative  of  urgent  and  very 
pressing  business.  Then,  to  our  utter  as- 
tonishment, up  she  marched  to  the  nearest 
basket  on  the  table  and  deliberately  took 
off  the  cover  and  began  taking  out  the 

i73 


We  Become  Acquainted 

content?.  It  happened  to  he  Mrs.  Nathan 
Butters'  basket.  Mrs.  Jameson  lifted  out 
the  great  loaf  of  fruit  cake  and  set  it  on 
the  table  with  a  contemptuous  thud,  as  it 
seemed  to  us ;  then  she  took  out  a  cran- 
berry pie  and  a  frosted  apple  pie,  and  set 
them  beside  it.  She  opened  Mrs.  Peter 
Jones'  basket  next,  and  Mrs.  Jones  stood 
there  all  full  of  nervous  twitches  and  saw 
her  take  out  a  pile  of  ham  sandwiches 
and  a  loaf  of  chocolate  cake  and  a  bottle 
of  pickles.  She  went  on  opening  the 
baskets  and  boxes  one  after  another,  and 
we  stood  watching  her.  Finally  she  came 
to  the  pail  full  of  jumbles,  and  her  hand 
slipped  and  the  most  of  them  fell  to  the 
ground  and  were  a  mass  of  crumbles. 

Then  Mrs.  Jameson  spoke;  she  had 
not  before  said  a  word.  "These  are 
enough  to  poison  the  whole  village,"  said 
she,  and  she  sniffed  with  a  proud  uplift- 
ing of  her  nose. 

I  am  sure  that  a  little  sound,  something 
between  a  groan  and  a  gasp,  came  from 
i74 


The  Jamesons 

us,  but  no  one  spoke.  I  felt  that  it  was 
fortunate,  and  yet  I  was  almost  sorry  that 
Mora  Clark,  who  made  those  jumbles, 
was  not  there ;  she  had  gone  to  pick  wild 
flowers  with  her  Sunday-school  class. 
Flora  is  very  high-spirited  and  very  proud 
of  her  jumbles,  and  I  knew  that  she 
would  not  have  stood  it  for  a  minute  to 
hear  them  called  poison.  There  would 
certainly  have  been  words  then  and  there, 
for  Flora  is  afraid  of  nobody.  She  is  a 
smart,  handsome  woman,  and  would  have 
been  married  long  ago  if  it  had  not  been 
for  her  temper. 

Mrs.  Jameson  did  not  attempt  to  gather 
up  the  jumbles ;  she  just  went  on  affcer 
that  remark  of  hers,  opening  the  rest  of 
the  things;  there  were  only  one  or  two 
more.  Then  she  took  the  cracker-box 
which  Harry  had  brought;  he  had  stolen 
away  to  put  up  his  horse,  and  it  looked 
to  me  very  much  as  if  Harriet  had  stolen 
away  with  him,  for  I  could  not  see  ker 
anywhere. 

*75 


We   Become   Acquainted 

Mrs.  Jameson  lifted  this  cracker-box 
on  to  the  table  and  opened  it.  It  was 
quite  full  of  thick,  hard-looking  biscuits, 
or  crackers.  She  laid  them  in  a  pile  be- 
side the  other  things;  then  she  took  up 
the  basket  and  opened  that.  There  was 
another  kind  of  a  cracker  in  that,  and 
two  large  papers  of  something.  When 
everything  was  taken  out  she  pointed  at 
the  piles  of  eatables  on  the  table,  and  ad- 
dressed us :  "  Ladies,  attention !  "  rapping 
slightly  with  a  spoon  at  the  same  time. 
Her  voice  was  very  sweet,  with  a  curious 
kind  of  forced  sweetness:  "Ladies,  at- 
tention !  I  wish  you  to  carefully  observe 
the  food  upon  the  table  before  us.  I  wish 
you  to  consider  it  from  the  standpoint  of 
wives  and  mothers  of  families.  There  is 
the  food  which  you  have  brought,  un- 
wholesome, indigestible;  there  is  mine, 
approved  of  by  the  foremost  physicians 
and  men  of  science  of  the  day.  For  ten 
years  I  have  had  serious  trouble  with  the 
alimentary  canal,  and  this  food  has  kept 
176 


The  Jamesons 

me  in  strength  and  vigor.  Had  I  at- 
tempted to  live  upon  your  fresh  biscuits, 
your  frosted  cakes,  your  rich  pastry,  I 
should  be  in  my  grave.  One  of  those 
biscuits  which  you  see  there  before  you 
is  equal  in  nourishment  to  six  of  your 
indigestible  pies,  or  every  cake  upon  the 
table.  The  great  cause  of  the  insanity  and 
dyspepsia  so  prevalent  among  the  rural 
classes  is  rich  pie  and  cake.  I  feel  it  my 
duty  to  warn  you.  I  hope,  ladies,  that  you 
will  consider  carefully  what  I  have  said." 

With  that,  Mrs.  Jameson  withdrew 
herself  a  little  way  and  sat  down  under  a 
tree  on  a  cushion  which  had  been  brought 
in  the  carryall.  We  looked  at  one  an- 
other, but  we  did  not  say  anything  for  a 
few  minutes. 

Finally,  Mrs.  White,  who  is  very  good- 
natured,  remarked  that  she  supposed  that 
she  meant  well,  and  she  had  better  put 
her  pies  back  in  the  basket  or  they  would 
dry  up.  We  all  began  putting  back  the 
things  which  Mrs.  Jameson  had  taken 
i77 


We  Become  Acquainted 

out,  except  the  broken  jumbles,  and  were 
very  quiet.  However,  we  could  not  help 
feeling  astonished  and  aggrieved  at  what 
Mrs.  Jameson  had  said  about  the  insan- 
ity and  dyspepsia  in  our  village,  since  we 
could  scarcely  remember  one  case  of  in- 
sanity, and  very  few  of  us  had  to  be  in 
the  least  careful  as  to  what  we  ate.  Mrs. 
Peter  Jones  did  say  in  a  whisper  that  if 
Mrs.  Jameson  had  had  dyspepsia  ten 
years  on  those  hard  biscuits  it  was  more 
than  any  of  us  had  had  on  our  cake  and 
pie.  We  left  the  biscuits,  and  the  two 
paper  packages  which  Mrs.  Jameson  had 
brought,  in  a  heap  on  the  table  just 
where  she  had  put  them. 

After  we  had  replaced  the  baskets  we 
all  scattered  about,  trying  to  enjoy  our- 
selves in  the  sweet  pine  woods,  but  it 
was  hard  work,  we  were  so  much  dis- 
turbed by  what  had  happened.  We  won- 
dered uneasily,  too,  what  Flora  Clark 
would  say  about  her  jumbles.  We  were 
all  quiet,  peaceful  people  who  dreaded 
>78 


The  Jamesons 

altercation ;  it  made  our  hearts  beat  too 
fast.  Taking  it  altogether,  we  felt  very 
much  as  if  some  great,  overgrown  bird  of 
another  species  had  gotten  into  our  vil- 
lage nest,  and  we  were  in  the  midst  of  an 
awful  commotion  of  strange  wings  and 
beak.  Still  we  agreed  that  Mrs.  Jame- 
son had  probably  meant  well. 

Grandma  Cobb  seemed  to  be  enjoying 
herself.  She  was  moving  about,  her 
novel  under  her  arm  and  her  peppermint 
box  in  her  hand,  holding  up  her  gown 
daintily  in  front.  She  spoke  to  every- 
body affably,  and  told  a  number  confiden- 
tially that  her  daughter  was  very  delicate 
about  her  eating,  but  she  herself  believed 
in  eating  what  you  liked.  Harriet  and 
Harry  Liscom  were  still  missing,  and  so 
were  the  younger  daughter,  Sarah,  and 
the  boy.  The  boy's  name,  by  the  way, 
was  Cobb,  his  mother's  maiden  name. 
That  seemed  strange  to  us,  but  it  possibly 
would  not  have  seemed  so  had  it  been  a 
prettier  name. 

179 


We  Become  Acquainted 

Just  before  liuich-tiine  Cobb  and  his 
sister  Sarah  appeared,  and  they  were  in 
great  trouble.  Joints  Green,  who  owns 
the  farm  next  the  grove,  was  with  them, 
and  actually  had  Cobb  by  the  hair,  hold- 
ing all  his  gathered-up  curls  tight  in  his 
list,  lie  held  Sarah  by  one  arm,  too,  and 
she  was  crying.  Cobb  was  crying,  too, 
for  that  matter,  and  crying  out  loud  like 
a  baby. 

Jonas  Green  is  a  very  brusque  man, 
and  he  did  look  as  angry  as  I  had  ever 
seen  any  one,  and  when  I  saw  what  those 
two  were  carrying  I  did  not  much  won- 
der.  Their  hands  were  full  of  squash 
blossoms  and  potato  blossoms,  and  Jonas 
Green's  garden  is  the  pride  of  his  life. 

Jonas  Green  marched  straight  up  to 
Mrs.  Jameson  under  her  tree,  and  said  in 
a  loud  voice :  "  Ma'am,  if  this  boy  and 
girl  are  yours  I  think  it  is  about  time 
you  taught  them  better  than  to  tramp 
through  folks'  fields  picking  things  that 
don't  belong  to  them,  and  I  expect  what 
180 


The  Jamesons 

I've  lost  in  squashes  and  potatoes  to  be 
made  good  to  me." 

We  all  waited,  breathless,  and  Mrs. 
Jameson  put  on  her  eyeglasses  and  looked 
up.     Then  she  spoke  sweetly. 

"My  good  man,"  said  she,  "if,  when 
you  come  to  dig  your  squashes,  you  find 
less  than  usual,  and  when  you  come  to 
pick  your  potatoes  the  bushes  are  not  in 
as  good  condition  as  they  generally  are, 
you  may  come  to  me  and  I  will  make  it 
right  with  you." 

Mrs.  Jameson  spoke  with  the  greatest 
dignity  and  sweetness,  and  we  almost 
felt  as  if  she  were  the  injured  party,  in 
spite  of  all  those  squash  and  potato  blos- 
soms. As  for  Jonas  Green,  he  stared  at 
her  for  the  space  of  a  minute,  then  he 
gave  a  loud  laugh,  let  go  of  the  boy  and 
girl,  and  strode  away.  We  heard  him 
laughing  to  himself  as  he  went;  ail 
through  his  life  the  mention  of  potato 
bushes  and  digging  squashes  was  enough 
to  send  him  into  iits  of  laughter.  It  was 
181 


We   Beceme  Acquainted 

the  joke  of  his  lifetime,  for  Jonas  Green 
had  never  been  a  merry  man,  and  it  was 
probably  worth  more  than  the  vegetables 
which  he  had  lost.  I  pitied  Cobb  and 
Sarah,  they  were  so  frightened,  and  got 
hold  of  them  myself  and  comforted  them. 
Sarah  was  just  such  another  little  timid, 
open-mouthed,  wide-eyed  sort  of  thing  as 
her  brother,  and  they  were  merely  pick- 
ing flowers,  as  they  supposed. 

"  I  never  saw  such  beautiful  yellow 
t owers,M  Sarah  said,  sobbing  and  looking 
ruefully  at  her  great  bouquet  of  squash 
blossoms.  This  little  Sarah,  who  was 
only  twelve,  and  very  small  and  childish 
for  her  age,  said  sooner  and  later  many 
ignorant,  and  yet  quaintly  innocent  things 
about  our  country  life,  which  were  widely 
repeated.  It  was  Sarah  who  said,  when 
she  was  offered  some  honey  at  a  village 
tea-drinking,  "Oh,  will  you  please  tell  me 
what  time  you  drive  home  your  bees? 
and  do  they  give  honey  twice  a  day  like 
the  cows  ?  "  It  was  Sarah  who,  when 
182 


The  Jamesons 

ner  brother  was  very  anxious  to  see  the 
pigs  on  Mr.  White's  farm,  said,  "Oh, 
be  quiet,  Cobb,  dear;  it  is  too  late  to- 
night; the  pigs  must  have  gone  into  their 
holes." 

I  think  poor  Cobb  and  Sarah  might 
have  had  a  pleasant  time  at  the  picnic, 
after  all — for  my  little  Alice  made  friends 
with  them,  and  Mi's.  Sim  White's  Charlie 
— had  it  not  been  for  their  mother's 
obliging  them  to  eat  her  hygienic  biscuits 
for  their  luncheons.  It  was  really  pitiful 
to  see  them  looking  so  wistfully  at  the 
cake  and  pie.  I  had  a  feeling  of  relief 
that  all  the  rest  of  us  were  not  obliged  to 
make  our  repast  of  hygienic  bread.  I 
had  a  fear  lest  Mrs.  Jameson  might  try 
to  force  us  to  do  so.  However,  all  she 
did  was  to  wait  until  we  were  fairly 
started  upon  our  meal,  and  then  send 
around  her  children  with  her  biscuits, 
following  them  herself  with  the  most  ten- 
der entreaties  that  we  would  put  aside  that 
unwholesome  food  and  not  risk  our  pre- 
183 


We  Become  Acquainted 

cious  lives.  She  would  not,  however, 
allow  us  to  drink  our  own  coffee — about 
that  she  was  firm.  She  insisted  upon  our 
making  some  hygienic  coffee  which  she 
had  brought  from  the  city,  and  we  were 
obliged  to  yield,  or  appear  in  a  very  stub- 
born and  ungrateful  light.  The  coffee 
was  really  very  good,  and  we  did  not 
mind.  The  other  parcel  which  she  had 
brought  contained  a  health  food,  to  be 
made  into  a  soit  of  porridge  with  hot 
water,  and  little  cups  of  that  were  passed 
around,  Mrs.  Jameson's  face  fairly  beam- 
ing with  benevolence  the  while,  and  there 
was  no  doubt  that  she  was  entirely  in 
earnest. 

Still,  we  were  all  so  disturbed — that  is, 
all  of  us  elder  people — that  I  doubt  if 
anybody  enjoyed  that  luncheon  unless  it 
was  Grandma  Cobb.  She  did  not  eat 
hygienic  biscuits,  but  did  eat  cake  and 
pie  in  unlimited  quantities.  I  was  really 
afraid  that  she  would  make  herself  ill 
with  Mrs.  Butters'  fruit  cake.  One  thing 
4  184 


The  Jamesons 

was  a  great  relief,  to  me  at  least:  Flora 
Clark  did  not  know  the  true  story  of  her 
jumbles  until  some  time  afterward.  Mrs. 
White  told  her  that  the  pail  had  been 
upset  and  they  were  broken,  and  we  were 
all  so  sorry;  and  she  did  not  suspect. 
We  were  glad  to  avoid  a  meeting  between 
her  and  Mrs.  Jameson,  for  none  of  us 
felt  as  if  we  could  endure  it  then. 

I  suppose  the  young  folks  enjoyed  the 
picnic  if  we  did  not,  and  that  was  the 
principal  thing  to  be  considered,  after  all. 
I  know  that  Harry  Liscom  and  Harriet 
Jameson  enjoyed  it,  and  all  the  more  that 
it  was  a  sort  of  stolen  pleasure.  Just 
before  we  went  home  I  was  strolling  off 
by  myself  near  the  brook,  and  all  of  a 
sudden  saw  the  two  young  things  under 
a  willow  tree.  I  stood  back  softly,  and 
they  never  knew  that  I  was  there,  but 
they  were  sitting  side  by  side,  and 
Harry's  arm  was  around  the  girl's  waist, 
and  her  head  was  on  his  shoulder,  and 
they  were  looking  at  each  other  as  if  they 
185 


Wc  Become  Acquainted 

eaw  angels,  and  I  thought  to  myself  that, 
whether  it  was  due  to  hygienic  bread 
or  pie,  they  were  in  love— and  what 
would  Mrs.  H.  Bcaidman  Jameson  and 
Caroline  Liscom  say? 


186 


Ill 

MRS.    JAMESON  IMPROVES  US 

It  was  some  time  before  we  really  un- 
derstood that  we  were  to  be  improved. 
We  might  have  suspected  it  from  the 
episode  of  the  hygienic  biscuits  at  the 
picnic,  but  we  did  not.  We  were  not 
fairly  aware  of  it  until  the  Ladies'  Sew- 
ing Circle  met  one  afternoon  with  Mrs. 
Sim  White,  the  president,  the  first  week 
in  July. 

It  was  a  very  hot  afternoon,  and  I 
doubt  if  we  should  have  had  the  meeting 
that  day  had  it  not  been  that  we  were 
anxious  to  get  off  a  barrel  as  soon  as 
possible  to  a  missionary  in  Minnesota. 
The  missionary  had  seven  children,  the 
youngest  only  six  weeks  old,  and  they 
were  really  suffering.  Flora  Clark  did 
187 


Mrs.   Jameson   Improves  Us 

say  that  if  it  were  as  hot  in  Minnesota: 
as  it  was  in  Linnville  she  would  not 
thank  anybody  to  send  her  clothes;  she 
would  be  thankful  for  the  excuse  of  pov- 
erty to  go  without  them.  But  Mrs.  Sim 
White  would  not  hear  to  having  the  meet- 
ing put  off ;  she  said  that  a  cyclone  might 
come  up  any  minute  in  Minnesota  and 
cool  the  air,  and  then  think  of  all  those 
poor  children  with  nothing  to  cover  them. 
Flora  Clark  had  the  audacity  to  say  that 
after  the  cyclone  there  might  not  be  any 
children  to  cover,  and  a  few  of  the 
younger  members  tittered ;  but  we  never 
took  Flora's  speeches  seriously.  She 
always  came  to  the  sewing  meeting,  no- 
matter  how  much  she  opposed  it,  and 
sewed  faster  than  any  of  us.  She  came 
that  afternoon  and  made  three  flannel 
petticoats  for  three  of  the  children, 
though  she  did  say  that  she  thought  the 
money  would  have  been  better  laid  out 
in  palm-leaf  fans. 

We  were   astonished   to   see  Mrs.  BL 
188 


The  Jamesons 

Boardman  Jameson  come  that  very  hot 
rafternoon,  for  we  knew  that  she  consid- 
ered herself  delicate,  and,  besides,  we 
wondered  that  she  should  feel  interested 
in  our  sewing  circle.  Her  daughter  Har- 
riet came  with  her;  Madam  Cobb,  as  I 
afterward  learned,  went,  instead,  to  Mrs. 
Ketchum's,  and  stayed  all  the  afternoon, 
and  kept  her  from  going  to  the  meeting 
at  all. 

Caroline  Liscom  came  with  her  board- 
ers, and  I  knew,  the  minute  I  saw  her, 
that  something  was  wrong.  She  had  a 
look  of  desperation  and  defiance  which  I 
had  seen  on  her  face  before.  Thinks  I  to 
myself:  "You  are  all  upset  over  some- 
thing, but  you  have  made  up  your  mind 
to  hide  it,  whether  or  no." 

Mrs.  Jameson  had  a  book  in  her  hand, 
and  when  she  first  came  in  she  laid  it  on 
the  table  where  we  cut  out  our  work. 
Mrs.  Liscom  went  around  the  room  with 
her,  introducing  her  to  the  ladies  whom 
she  had  not  met  before.  I  could  see  that 
189 


Mrs.  Jameson  Improves  Us 

she  did  not  like  to  do  it,  and  was  simply 
swallowing  her  objections  with  hard  gulps 
every  time  she  introduced  her. 

Harriet  walked  behind  her  mother  and 
Mrs.  Liscom,  and  spoke  very  prettily 
every  time  she  was  addressed. 

Harriet  Jameson  was  really  an  exceed- 
ingly pretty  girl,  with  a  kind  of  apolo- 
getic sweetness  and  meekness  of  manner 
which  won  her  friends.  Her  dress  that 
afternoon  was  pretty,  too:  a  fine  white 
lawn  trimmed  with  very  handsome  em- 
broidery, and  a  white  satin  ribbon  at  the 
waist  and  throat.  I  understood  after- 
ward that  Mrs.  Jameson  did  not  allow 
her  daughters  to  wear  their  best  clothes 
generally  to  our  village  festivities,  but 
kept  them  for  occasions  in  the  city,  since 
their  fortunes  were  reduced,  thinking  that 
their  old  finery,  though  it  might  be  a  little 
the  worse  for  wear,  was  good  enough  for 
our  unsophisticated  eyes.  But  that  might 
not  have  been  true ;  Harriet  was  very  well 
dressed  that  afternoon,  at  all  events. 
190 


The  Jamesons 

Mrs.  Jameson  seemed  to  be  really  very 
affable.  She  spoke  cordially  to  us  all, 
and  then  asked  to  have  some  work  given 
her;  but,  as  it  happened,  there  was  noth- 
ing cut  out  except  a  black  dress  for  the 
missionary's  wife,  and  she  did  not  like  to 
strain  her  eyes  working  on  black. 

"Let  me  cut  something  out,"  said  she 
in  her  brisk  manner ;  "  I  have  come  here 
to  be  useful.  What  is  there  needing  to 
be  cut  out?" 

It  was  Flora  Clark  who  replied,  and  I 
always  suspected  her  of  a  motive  in  it, 
for  she  had  heard  about  her  jumbles  by 
that  time.  She  said  there  was  a  little 
pair  of  gingham  trousers  needed  for  the 
missionary's  five-year-old  boy,  and  Mrs. 
Jameson,  without  a  quiver  of  hesitation, 
asked  for  the  gingham  and  scissors.  I 
believe  she  would  have  undertaken  a 
suit  for  the  missionary  with  the  same 
alacrity. 

Mrs.  Jameson  was  given  another  little 
pair  of  trousers,  a  size  smaller  than  thos« 
191 


Mrs.   Jameson  Improves  Us 

required,  for  a  pattern,  a  piece  of  blue 
and  white  gingham  and  the  shears,  and 
she  began.  We  all  watched  her  fur- 
tively, but  she  went  slashing  away  with 
as  much  confidence  as  if  she  had  served 
an  apprenticeship  with  a  tailor  in  her 
youth.  We  began  to  think  that  possibly 
she  knew  better  how  to  cut  out  trousers 
than  we  did.  Mrs.  White  whispered  to 
me  that  she  had  heard  that  many  of  those 
rich  city  women  learned  how  to  do  every- 
thing in  case  they  lost  their  money,  and 
she  thought  it  was  so  sensible. 

When  Mrs.  Jameson  had  finished  cut- 
ting out  the  trousers,  which  was  in  a 
very  short  space  of  time,  she  asked  for 
some  thread  and  a  needle,  and  Flora 
Clark  started  to  get  some,  and  got  there- 
by an  excuse  to  examine  the  trousers. 
She  looked  at  them,  and  held  them  up 
so  we  all  could  see,  and  then  she  spoke. 

"Mrs.  Jameson,"  said  she,  "these  are 
cut  just  alike  back  and  front,  and  they 
are  large  enough  for  a  boy  of  twelve.* 
192 


The  Jamesons 

She  spoke  very  clearly  and  decisively. 
Flora  Clark  never  minces  matters. 

We  fairly  shivered  with  terror  as  to 
what  would  come  next,  and  poor  Mrs. 
White  clutched  my  arm  hard.  "Oh," 
she  whispered,  "  I  am  so  sorry  she  spoke 
so.* 

But  Mrs.  Jameson  was  not  so  easily 
put  down.  She  replied  very  coolly  and 
sweetly,  and  apparently  without  the 
slightest  resentment,  that  she  had  made 
them  so  on  purpose,  so  that  the  boy 
would  not  outgrow  them,  and  she  always 
thought  it  better  to  have  the  back  and 
front  cut  alike;  the  trousers  could  then 
be  worn  either  way,  and  would  last  much 
longer. 

To  our  horror,  Flora  Clark  spoke  again. 
u  I  guess  you  are  right  about  their  last- 
ing," said  she;  "I  shouldn't  think  those 
trousers  would  wear  out  any  faster  on  a 
five-year-old  boy  than  they  would  on  a 
pair  of  tongs.  They  certainly  won't 
touch  him  anywhere." 
i93 


Mrs.  Jameson  Improves  Us 

Mrs.  Jameson  only  smiled  in  her 
calmly  superior  way  at  that,  and  we 
concluded  that  she  must  be  good-tem- 
pered. As  for  Flora,  she  said  nothing 
more,  and  we  all  felt  much  relieved. 

Mrs.  Jameson  went  to  sewing  on  the 
trousers  with  the  same  confidence  with 
which  she  had  cut  them  out;  but  I  must 
say  we  had  a  little  more  doubt  about  her 
skill.  She  sewed  with  incredible  swift- 
ness ;  I  did  not  time  her  exactly,  but  it 
did  not  seem  to  me  that  she  was  more 
than  an  hour  in  making  those  trousers. 
I  know  the  meeting  began  at  two  o'clock, 
and  it  was  not  more  than  half -past  three 
when  she  announced  that  they  were  done. 

Flora  Clark  rose,  and  Mrs.  White 
clutched  her  skirt  and  held  her  back 
while  she  whispered  something.  How- 
ever, Flora  went  across  the  room  to  the 
table,  and  held  up  the  little  trousers  that 
we  all  might  see.  Mrs.  Jameson  had 
done  what  many  a  novice  in  trousers- 
making  does:  sewed  one  leg  over  the 
194 


The  Jamesons 

other  and  made  a  bag  of  them.  The} 
were  certainly  a  comical  sight.  1  don't 
know  whether  Flora's  sense  of  humor  got 
the  better  of  her  wrath,  or  whether  Mrs. 
White's  expostulation  influenced  her,  but 
she  did  not  ,say  one  word,  only  stood  there 
holding  the  trousers,  her  mouth  twitching. 
As  for  the  rest  of  us,  it  was  all  we  could 
do  to  keep  our  faces  straight.  Mrs. 
Jameson  was  looking  at  her  book,  and 
did  not  seem  to  notice  anything;  and 
Harriet  was  sitting  with  her  back  to 
Flora,  of  which  I  was  glad.  I  should 
have  been  sorry  to  have  had  the  child's 
feelings  hurt. 

Flora  laid  the  trousers  on  the  table  and 
came  back  to  her  seat  without  a  word, 
and  I  know  that  Mrs.  White  sat  up  nearly 
all  night  ripping  them,  and  cutting  them 
over,  and  sewing  them  together  again,  in 
season  to  have  them  packed  in  the  barrel 
the  next  day. 

In  the  mean  time,  Mrs.  Jameson  was 
finding  the  place  in  her  book;  and  just  as 
*95 


Mrs.   Jameson   Improves  Us 

Mrs.  Peter  Jones  had  asked  Mrs.  Butters 
if  it  were  true  that  Dora  Peckham  was 
going  to  marry  Thomas  Wells  and  had 
bought  her  wedding  dress,  and  before 
Mrs.  Butters  had  a  chance  to  answer 
her  (she  lives  next  door  to  the  Peck- 
hams),  she  rapped  with  the  scissors  on 
the  table. 

"Ladies,"  said  she.  "Ladies,  atten- 
tion ! " 

I  suppose  we  all  did  stiffen  up  invol- 
untarily; it  was  so  obviously  not  Mrs. 
Jameson's  place  to  call  us  to  order  and 
attention.  Of  course  she  should  have 
been  introduced  by  our  President,  who 
should  herself  have  done  the  rapping 
with  the  scissors.  Flora  Clark  opened 
her  mouth  to  speak,  but  Mrs.  White 
clutched  her  arm  and  looked  at  her  so 
beseechingly  that  she  kept  quiet. 

Mrs.  Jameson  continued,  utterly  un- 
conscious of  having  given  any  offence. 
We  supposed  that  she  did  not  once  think 
it  possible  that  we  knew  what  the  usages 
196 


The  Jamesons 

of  ladies'  societies  were.  "Ladies,"  said 
she,  "  I  am  sure  that  you  will  all  prefer 
having  your  minds  improved  and  your 
spheres  enlarged  by  the  study  and  con- 
templation of  one  of  the  greatest  authors 
of  any  age,  to  indulging  in  narrow  vil- 
lage gossip.  I  will  now  read  to  you  a 
selection  from  Robert  Browning." 

Mrs.  Jameson  said  Eobert  Browning 
with  such  an  impressive  and  triumphantly 
introductory  air  that  it  was  almost  im- 
possible for  a  minute  not  to  feel  that 
Browning  was  actually  there  in  our  sew- 
ing circle.  She  made  a  little  pause,  too, 
which  seemed  to  indicate  just  that.  It 
was  borne  upon  Mrs.  White's  mind  that 
she  ought  to  clap,  and  she  made  a  feeble 
motion  with  her  two  motherly  hands 
which  one  or  two  of  us  echoed. 

Mrs.  Jameson  began  to  read  the  selec- 
tion from  Robert  Browning.  Now,  as  I 
have  said  before,  we  have  a  literary  soci- 
ety in  our  village,  but  we  have  never 
attempted  to  read  Browning  at  our  meet- 
197 


Mrs.   Jameson   Improves   Us 

h»gs.  Some  of  us  read  him  a  little  and 
strive  to  appreciate  him,  but  we  have 
been  quite  sure  that  some  other  author 
would  interest  a  larger  proportion  of  the 
ladies.  I  don't  suppose  that  more  than 
three  of  us  had  ever  read  or  even  heard 
of  the  selection  which  Mrs.  Jameson  read. 
It  was,  to  my  way  of  thinking,  one  of 
the  most  difficult  of  them  all  to  be  under- 
stood by  an  untrained  mind,  but  we  lis- 
tened politely,  and  with  a  semblance,  at 
least,  of  admiring  interest. 

I  think  Harriet  Jameson  was  at  first 
the  only  seriously  disturbed  listener,  to 
judge  from  her  expression.  The  poor 
child  looked  so  anxious  and  distressed 
that  I  was  sorry  for  her.  I  heard  after- 
ward that  she  had  begged  her  mother  not 
to  take  the  Browning  book,  saying  that 
she  did  not  believe  the  ladies  would  like 
it;  and  Mrs.  Jameson  had  replied  that  she 
felt  it  to  be  her  duty  to  teach  them  to 
like  it,  and  divert  their  minds  from  the 
petty  gossip  which  she  had  always  heard 
198 


The  Jamesons 

was  the  distinguishing  feature  of  rural 
sewing  meetings. 

Mrs.  Jameson  read  and  read;  when 
she  had  finished  the  first  selection  she 
read  another.  At  half -past  four  o'clock, 
Mrs.  White,  who  had  been  casting  dis- 
tressed glances  at  me,  rose  and  stole  out 
on  tiptoe. 

I  knew  why  she  did  so ;  Mrs.  Bemis' 
hired  girl  next  door  was  baking  her  bis- 
cuits for  her  that  she  need  not  heat  her 
house  up,  and  she  had  brought  them  in. 
I  heard  the  kitchen  door  open. 

Presently  Mrs.  White  stole  in  again 
and  tried  to  listen  politely  to  the  reading, 
but  her  expression  was  so  strained  to 
maintain  interest  that  one  could  see  the 
anxiety  underneath.  I  knew  what  wor- 
ried her  before  she  told  me,  as  she  did 
presently.  "  I  have  rolled  those  biscuits 
up  in  a  cloth,"  she  whispered,  "but  I  am 
dreadfully  afraid  that  they  will  be  spoiled." 

Mrs.  Jameson  began  another  selection, 
and  I  did  pity  Mrs.  White.  She  whis- 
199 


Mrs.   Jameson  Improves  Us 

pered  to  me  again  that  her  table  was  not 
set,  and  the  biscuits  would  certainly  be 
spoiled. 

The  selection  which  Mrs.  Jameson  was 
then  reading  was  a  short  one,  and  I  saw 
Mrs.  White  begin  to  brighten  as  she  evi- 
dently drew  near  the  end.  But  her  joy 
was  of  short  duration,  as  Mrs.  Jameson 
began  another  selection. 

However,  Mrs.  White  laid  an  implor- 
ing hand  on  Flora  Clark's  arm  when  she 
manifested  symptoms  of  rising  and  inter- 
rupting the  reading.  Flora  was  getting 
angr}7 — I  knew  by  the  way  her  forehead 
was  knitted  and  by  the  jerky  way  she 
sewed.  Poor  Harriet  Jameson  looked 
more  and  more  distressed.  I  was  sure 
she  saw  Mrs.  White  holding  back  Flora, 
and  knew  just  what  it  meant.  Harriet 
was  sitting  quite  idle  with  her  little 
hands  in  her  lap ;  we  had  set  her  to  hem- 
ming a  ruffle  for  the  missionary's  wife's 
dress,  but  her  stitches  were  so  hopelessly 
uneven  that  I  had  quietly  taken  it  from 
5  200 


The  Jamesons 

her  and  told  her  I  was  out  of  work  and 
would  do  it  myself.  The  poor  child  had 
blushed  when  she  gave  it  up.  She  evi- 
dently knew  her  deficiencies. 

Mrs.  Jameson  read  selections  from 
Robert  Browning  until  six  'oclock,  and 
by  that  time  Mrs.  White  had  attained  to 
the  calmness  of  despair.  At  a  quarter  of 
six  she  whispered  to  me  that  the  biscuits 
were  spoiled,  and  then  her  face  settled 
into  an  expression  of  stony  peace.  When 
Mrs.  Jameson  finally  closed  her  book 
there  was  a  murmur  which  might  have 
been  considered  expressive  of  relief  or 
applause,  according  to  the  amount  of  self- 
complacency  of  the  reader.  Mrs.  Jame- 
son evidently  considered  it  applause,  for 
she  bowed  in  a  highly  gracious  manner, 
and  remarked  :  "  I  am  very  glad  if  I  have 
given  you  pleasure,  ladies,  and  I  shall  be 
more  than  pleased  at  some  future  time  to 
read  some  other  selections  even  superior 
to  these  which  I  have  given,  and  also  to 
make  some  remarks  upon  them." 
201 


Mrs.  Jameson  Improves  Us 

There  was  another  murmur,  which 
might  have  been  of  pleasure  at  the  pros- 
pect of  the  future  reading,  or  the  respite 
from  the  present  one;  I  was  puzzled  to 
know  which  it  did  mean. 

We  always  had  our  supper  at  our  sew- 
ing meetings  at  precisely  five  o'clock,  and 
now  it  was  an  hour  later.  Mrs.  White 
rose  and  went  out  directly,  and  Flora 
Clark  and  I  followed  her  to  assist.  We 
began  laying  the  table  as  fast  as  we  could, 
while  Mrs.  White  was  cutting  the  cake. 
The  ladies  of  the  society  brought  the  cake 
and  pie,  and  Mrs.  White  furnished  the 
bread  and  tea.  However,  that  night  it 
was  so  very  warm  we  had  decided  to  have 
lemonade  instead  of  tea.  Mrs.  White 
had  put  it  to  vote  among  the  ladies  when 
they  first  came,  and  we  had  all  decided  in 
favor  of  lemonade.  There  was  another 
reason  for  Mrs.  White  not  having  tea: 
she  has  no  dining-room,  but  eats  in  her 
kitchen  summer  and  winter.  It  is  a  very 
large  room,  but  of  course  in  such  heat  as 
202 


The  Jamesons 

there  was  that  day  even  a  little  fire  would 
have  made  it  unendurably  warm.  So  she 
had  planned  to  have  her  biscuits  baked  in 
Mrs.  Bemis'  stove  and  have  lemonade. 

Our  preparations  were  nearly  com- 
pleted,  and  we  were  placing  the  last  things 
on  the  table,  when  my  sister-in-law, 
Louisa  Field,  came  out,  and  I  knew  that 
something  was  wrong. 

"What  is  the  matter?  "  said  I. 

Louisa  looked  at  Flora  as  if  she  were 
almost  afraid  to  speak,  but  finally  it  came 
out:  Mrs.  Jameson  must  have  some  hot 
water  to  prepare  her  health  food,  as  she 
dared  not  eat  our  hurtful  cake  and  pie, 
especially  m  such  heat. 

Flora  Clark's  eyes  snapped.  She  could 
not  be  repressed  any  longer,  so  she  turned 
on  poor  Louisa  as  if  she  were  the  offender. 
*  Let  her  go  home,  then !  "  said  she.  "  She 
sha'n't  have  any  hot  water  in  this 
house ! ' 

Flora  spoke  very  loud,  and  Mrs.  White 
was  in  agony.  "  Oh,  Flora !  don't,  don't  I " 
203 


Mrs.   Jameson   Improves  Us 

said  she.  But  she  looked  at  the  cold 
kitchen  stove  in  dismay. 

I  suggested  boiling  the  kettle  on  Mrs. 
Bemis'  stove ;  but  that  could  not  be  done, 
for  the  hired  girl  had  gone  away  buggy- 
riding  with  her  beau  after  she  had  brought 
in  the  biscuits,  and  Mrs.  Bemis  was  not 
at  the  sewing  circle :  her  mother,  in  the 
next  town,  was  ill,  and  she  had  gone  to 
see  her.  So  the  Bemis  house  was  locked 
up,  and  the  fire  no  doubt  out.  Mrs. 
White  lives  on  an  outlying  farm,  and 
there  was  not  another  neighbor  within  a 
quarter  of  a  mile.  If  Mrs.  Jameson  must 
have  that  hot  water  for  her  hygienic  food 
there  was  really  nothing  to  do  but  to 
make  up  the  fire  in  the  kitchen  stove,  no 
matter  how  uncomfortable  we  all  might 
be  in  consequence. 

Flora  Clark  said  in  a  very  loud  voice, 
and  Mrs.  White  could  not  hush  her,  that 
she  would  see  Mrs.  II.  Boardman  Jame- 
son in  Gibraltar  first;  and  she  was  so  in- 
dignant because  Mrs.  White  began  to  put 
204 


The  Jamesons 

kindlings  into  the  stove  that  she  stalked 
off  into  the  other  room.  Mrs.  White 
begged  me  to  follow  her  and  try  to  keep 
her  quiet,  but  I  was  so  indignant  myself 
that  I  was  almost  tempted  to  wish  she 
would  speak  out  her  mind.  I  ran  out 
and  filled  the  tea-kettle,  telling  Mrs. 
White  that  I  guessed  Flora  wouldn't  say 
anything,  and  we  started  the  fire. 

It  was  a  quarter  of  seven  before  the 
water  was  hot,  and  we  asked  the  ladies 
to  walk  out  to  supper.  Luckily,  the  gen- 
tlemen were  not  coming  that  night.  It 
was  haying-time,  and  we  had  decided, 
since  we  held  the  meeting  principally  be- 
cause of  the  extra  work,  that  we  would 
not  have  them.  We  often  think  that  the 
younger  women  don't  do  as  much  work 
when  the  gentlemen  are  coming ;  they  are 
upstairs  so  long  curling  their  hair  and 
prinking. 

I  wondered  if  Flora  Clark  had  said 
anything.  I  heard  afterward  that  she 
had  not,  but  I  saw  at  once  that  she  was 
205 


Mis.  Jameson  Improves  Us 

endeavoring  to  wreak  a  little  revenge 
upon  Mrs.  Jameson.  By  a  series  of  very 
skilful  and  scarcely  perceptible  manoeu- 
vres she  gently  impelled  Mrs.  Jameson, 
without  her  being  aware  of  it,  into  the 
seat  directly  in  front  of  the  stove.  I 
knew  it  was  not  befitting  my  age  and 
Christian  character,  but  I  was  glad  to 
see  her  there.  The  heat  that  night  was 
something  terrific,  and  the  fire  in  the 
stove,  although  we  had  made  no  more 
than  we  could  help,  had  increased  it  de- 
cidedly. I  thought  that  Mrs.  Jameson, 
between  the  stove  at  her  back  and  the 
hot  water  in  her  health  food,  would  have 
her  just  deserts.  It  did  seem  as  if  she 
must  be  some  degrees  warmer  than  any 
of  the  rest  of  us. 

However,  who  thought  to  inflict  just 
deserts  upon  her  reckoned  without  Mrs. 
H.  Boardman  Jameson.  She  began  stir- 
ring the  health  food,  which  she  had 
brought,  in  her  cup  of  hot  water;  but 
suddenly  she  looked  around,  saw  the  stove 
206 


The  Jamesons 

at  her  back,  and  sweetly  asked  Mrs. 
White  if  she  could  not  have  another  seat, 
as  the  heat  was  very  apt  to  affect  her 
head. 

It  was  Harriet,  after  all,  upon  whom 
the  punishment  for  her  mother's  thought- 
lessness fell.  She  jumped  up  at  once, 
and  eagerly  volunteered  to  change  seats 
with  her. 

"  Indeed,  my  place  is  quite  cool,  mam- 
ma," she  said.  So  Mrs.  Jameson  and  her 
daughter  exchanged  places ;  and  I  did  not 
dare  look  at  Flora  Clark. 

Though  the  kitchen  was  so  hot,  I  think 
we  all  felt  that  we  had  reason  to  be  thank- 
ful that  Mrs.  Jameson  did  not  beseech  us 
to  eat  health  food  as  she  did  at  the  pic- 
nic, and  also  that  the  reading  was  over 
for  that  day. 

Louisa,  when  we  were  going  home  that 
night,  said  she  supposed  that  Mrs.  Jame- 
son would  try  to  improve  our  literary 
society  also;  and  she  was  proved  to  be 
right  in  her  supposition  at  the  very  next 
207 


Mrs.   Jameson  Improves  Us 

meeting.  Mrs.  Jameson  came,  and  she 
not  only  read  selections  from  Browning, 
but  she  started  us  in  that  mad  problem 
of  Shakespeare  and  Bacon.  Most  of  the 
ladies  in  our  society  had  not  an  intimate 
acquaintance  with  either,  having  had,  if 
the  truth  were  told,  their  minds  too  fully 
occupied  with  such  humble  domestic 
questions  of  identity  as  whether  Johnny 
or  Tommy  stole  the  sugar. 

However,  when  we  were  once  fairly 
started  there  was  no  end  to  our  interest; 
we  all  agonized  over  it,  and  poor  Mrs. 
Sim  White  was  so  exercised  over  the 
probable  deception  cf  either  Bacon  or 
Shakespeare,  in  any  case,  that  she  told 
m 3  privately  that  she  was  tempted  to 
leave  the  literary  society  and  confine  her- 
self to  her  Bible. 

There  was  actual  animosity  between 
some  members  of  our  society  in  conse- 
quence. Mrs.  Charles  Eoot  and  Rebecca 
Snow  did  not  speak  to  each  other  for 
weeks  because  Mrs.  Boot  believed  that 
208 


The  Jamesons 

Shakespeare  was  Bacon,  and  Eebecca  be* 
lieved  he  was  himself.  Rebecca  even 
stayed  away  from  church  and  the  society 
on  that  account. 

Mrs.  Jameson  expressed  herself  as  very 
much  edified  at  our  interest,  and  said  she 
considered  it  a  proof  that  our  spheres 
were  widening. 

Louisa  and  I  agreed  that  if  we  could 
only  arrive  at  a  satisfactory  conclusion  in 
the  matter  we  should  feel  that  ours  were 
wider;  and  Flora  Clark  said  it  did  not 
seem  of  much  use  to  her,  since  Shake- 
speare and  Bacon  were  both  dead  and 
gone,  and  we  were  too  much  concerned 
with  those  plays  which  were  written  any- 
how, and  no  question  about  it,  to  bother 
about  anything  else.  It  did  not  seem  to 
her  that  the  opinion  of  our  literary  soci- 
ety would  make  much  difference  to  either 
of  them,  and  that  possibly  we  had  better 
spend  our  time  in  studying  the  plays. 

At  the  second  meeting  of  our  society 
which  Mrs.  Jameson  attended  she  gave 
209 


Mrs.  Jameson  Improves  Us 

us  a  lecture,  which  she  had  written  and 
delivered  before  her  Shakespeare  club  in 
the  city.  It  was  upon  the  modem  drama, 
and  we  thought  it  must  be  very  instruc- 
tive, only  as  few  of  us  ever  went  to  the 
theatre,  or  even  knew  the  name  of  a 
modem  playwright,  it  was  almost  like  a 
lecture  in  an  unknown  tongue.  Mrs. 
Ketchum  went  to  sleep  and  snored,  and 
told  me  on  the  way  home  that  she  did 
not  mean  to  be  ungrateful,  but  she  could 
not  help  feeling  that  it  would  have  been 
as  improving  for  her  to  stay  at  home  and 
read  a  new  Sunday-school  book  that  she 
was  interested  in. 

Mrs.  Jameson  did  not  confine  herself 
in  her  efforts  for  our  improvement  to  our 
diet  and  our  literary  tastes.  After  she 
had  us  fairly  started  in  our  bewildering 
career  on  the  tracks  of  Bacon  and  Shake- 
speare— doing  a  sort  of  amateur  detective 
work  in  the  tombs,  as  it  were — and  after 
she  had  induced  the  storekeeper  to  lay  in 
a  supply  of  health  food — which  ho  finally 


The  Jamesons 

fed  to  the  chickens — she  turned  her  atten- 
tion to  our  costumes.  She  begged  us  to 
cut  off  our  gowns  at  least  three  inches 
around  the  bottoms,  for  wear  when  en- 
gaged in  domestic  pursuits,  and  she  tried 
to  induce  mothers  to  take  off  the  shoes 
and  stockings  of  their  small  children,  and 
let  them  run  barefoot.  Children  of  a 
larger  growth  in  our  village  quite  gener- 
ally go  barefoot  in  the  summer,  but  the 
little  ones  are  always,  as  a  rule,  well 
shod.  Mrs.  Jameson  said  that  it  was 
much  better  for  them  also  to  go  without 
shoes  and  stockings,  and  Louisa  and  I 
were  inclined  to  think  she  might  be  right 
— it  does  seem  to  be  the  natural  way  of 
things.  But  people  rather  resented  her 
catching  their  children  on  the  street  and 
stripping  off  their  shoes  and  stockings, 
and  sending  the  little  things  home  with 
then  in  their  hands.  However,  their 
mothers  put  on  the  shoes  and  stockings, 
and  thought  she  must  mean  well.  Very 
few  of  them  said  anything  to  her  by  way 


Mrs.   Jameson   Improves  Us 

of  expostulation ;  but  the  children  finally 
ran  when  they  saw  her  coming,  so  they 
would  not  have  their  shoes  and  stockings 
taken  off. 

All  this  time,  while  Mrs.  H.  Boardman 
Jameson  was  striving  to  improve  us,  her 
daughter  Harriet  was  seemingly  devoting 
all  her  energies  to  the  improvement  of 
Harry  Liscom,  or  to  the  improvement  of 
her  own  ideal  in  his  heart,  whichever  it 
may  have  been ;  and  I  think  she  succeeded 
in  each  case. 

Neither  Mrs.  Liscom  nor  Mrs.  Jame- 
son seemed  aware  of  it,  but  people  began 
to  say  that  Harry  Liscom  and  the  eldest 
Jameson  girl  wrere  going  together. 

I  had  no  doubt  of  it  after  what  I  had 
seen  in  the  grove ;  and  one  evening  during 
the  last  of  July  I  had  additional  evidence. 
In  the  cool  of  the  day  I  strolled  down  the 
road  a  little  way,  and  finally  stopped  at 
the  old  Wray  house.  Nobody  lived  there 
then;  it  had  been  shut  up  for  many  a 
year.     I  thought  I  would  sit  down  on  the 

212 


The  Jamesons 

old  doorstep  and  rest,  and  I  had  barely 
settled  myself  when  I  heard  voices.  They 
came  around  the  corner  from  the  south 
piazza,  and  I  could  not  help  hearing 
what  they  said,  though  I  rose  and  went 
away  as  soon  as  I  had  my  wits  about  me 
and  fairly  knew  that  I  was  eavesdropping. 

"You  are  so  far  above  me,"  said  a  boy's 
voice  which  I  knew  was  Harry  Lis  corn's. 

Then  came  the  voice  of  the  girl  in 
reply:  "Oh,  Harry,  it  is  you  who  are  so 
far  above  me. "  Then  I  was  sure  that  they 
kissed  each  other. 

I  reflected  as  I  stole  softly  away,  lest 
they  should  discover  me  and  be  ashamed, 
that,  after  all,  it  was  only  love  which 
could  set  people  upon  immeasurable 
heights  in  each  other's  eyes,  and  stimu- 
late them  to  real  improvement  and  to  live 
up  to  each  other's  ideals. 


213 


IV 

THEY    TAKE    A  FARM 

I  had  wondered  a  little,  after  Mrs. 
Jameson's  frantic  appeal  to  me  to  secure 
another  boarding-place  for  her,  that  she 
seemed  to  settle  down  so  contentedly 
at  Caroline  Liscom's.  She  said  nothing 
more  about  her  dissatisfaction,  if  she  felt 
any.  However,  I  fancy  that  Mrs.  Jame- 
son is  one  to  always  conceal  her  distaste 
for  the  inevitable,  and  she  must  have 
known  that  she  could  not  have  secured 
another  boarding-place  in  Linnville.  As 
for  Caroline  Liscom,  her  mouth  is  always 
closed  upon  her  own  affairs  until  they 
have  become  matters  of  history.  She 
never  said  a  word  to  me  about  the  Jame- 
sons until  they  had  ceased  to  be  her 
boarders,  which  was  during  the  first  week 
214 


The  Jamesons 

in  August.  My  sister-in-law,  Louisa 
Field,  came  home  one  afternoon  with  the 
news.  She  had  been  over  to  Mrs.  Gregg's 
to  get  her  receipt  for  blackberry  jam,  and 
had  heard  -it  there.  Mrs.  Gregg  always 
knew  about  the  happenings  in  our  village 
before  they  fairly  gathered  form  on  the 
horizon  of  reality. 

"What  do  you  think,  Sophia?"  said 
Louisa  when  she  came  in — she  did  not 
wait  to  take  off  her  hat  before  she  began 
— "the  Jamesons  are  going  to  leave  the 
Lis  corns,  and  they  have  rented  the  old 
Wray  place,  and  are  going  to  run  the  farm 
and  raise  vegetables  and  eggs.  Mr.  Jame- 
son is  coming  on  Saturday  night,  and 
they  are  going  to  move  in  next  Monday.  * 

I  was  very  much  astonished;  I  had 
never  dreamed  that  the  Jamesons  had 
any  taste  for  farming,  and  then,  too,  it 
was  so  late  in  the  season. 

"  Old  Jonas  Martin  is  planting  the  gar- 
den now,"  said  Louisa.  "  I  saw  him  as  I 
came  past." 

215 


They  Take  a  Farm 

"The  garden,"  said  I;  "why,  it  is  the 
first  of  August !  " 

"  Mrs.  Jameson  thinks  that  she  can  raise 
late  peas  and  corn,  and  set  hens  so  as  to 
have  spring  chickens  very  early  in  the  sea- 
son, "  replied  Louisa,  laughing;  "at  least,, 
that  is  what  Mrs.  Gregg  says.  The  Jame- 
sons are  going  to  stay  here  until  the  last  of 
October,  and  then  Jonas  Martin  is  going  to 
take  care  of  the  hens  through  the  winter. " 

I  remembered  with  a  bewildered  feel- 
ing what  Mrs.  Jameson  had  said  about 
not  wanting  to  board  with  people  who 
kept  hens,  and  here  she  was  going  to  keep 
them  herself. 

Louisa  and  I  wondered  what  kind  of  a 
man  Mr.  H.  Boardman  Jameson  might 
be ;  he  had  never  been  to  Linnville,  being 
kept  in  the  city  by  his  duties  at  the 
custom-house. 

"  I  don't  believe  that  he  will  have  much 
to  say  about  the  farm  while  Mrs.  Jame- 
son  has    a   tongue    in    her   head,"   said 
Louisa;  and  I  agreed  with  her. 
6  216 


The  Jamesons 

When  we  saw  Mr.  H.  Boardman  Jame- 
son at  church  the  next  Sunday  we  were 
confirmed  in  our  opinion. 

He  was  a  small  man,  much  smaller 
than  his  wife,  with  a  certain  air  of  de- 
funct style  about  him.  He  had  quite  a 
fierce  bristle  of  moustache,  and  a  nervous 
briskness  of  carriage,  yet  there  was  some- 
thing that  was  unmistakably  conciliatory 
and  subservient  in  his  bearing  toward 
Mrs.  Jameson.  He  stood  aside  for  her 
to  enter  the  pew,  with  the  attitude  of 
vassalage ;  he  seemed  to  respond  with  an 
echo  of  deference  to  every  rustle  of  her 
silken  skirts  and  every  heave  of  her  wide 
shoulders.  Mrs.  Jameson  was  an  Episco- 
palian, and  our  church  is  Congregational. 
Mrs.  Jameson  did  not  attempt  to  kneel 
when  she  entered,  but  bent  her  head  for- 
ward upon  the  back  of  the  pew  in  front 
of  her.  Mr.  Jameson  waited  until  she 
fcras  fairly  in  position,  with  observant  and 
anxious  eyes  upon  her,  before  he  did  like- 
wise. 

217 


They  Take  a  Farm 

This  was  really  the  first  Sunday  on 
which  Mrs.  Jameson  herself  had  appeared 
at  church.  Ever  since  she  had  been  in 
our  village  the  Sundays  had  been  excep- 
tionally warm,  or  else  rainy  and  disagree- 
able, and  of  course  Mrs.  Jameson  was 
in  delicate  health.  The  girls  and  Cobb 
had  attended  faithfully,  and  always  sat 
in  the  pew  with  the  Lis  coins.  To-day 
Harry  and  his  father  sat  in  the  Jones 
pew  to  make  room  for  the  two  elder 
Jamesons. 

There  was  an  unusual  number  at  meet- 
ing that  morning,  partly,  no  doubt,  be- 
cause it  had  been  reported  that  Mr.  Jame- 
son was  to  be  there,  and  that  made  a 
little  mistake  of  his  and  his  wife's  more 
conspicuous.  The  minister  read  that 
morning  the  twenty-third  Psalm,  and 
after  he  had  finished  the  first  verse  Mrs. 
Jameson  promptly  responded  with  the 
second,  as  she  would  have  done  in  her 
own  church,  raising  her  solitary  voice 
with  great  emphasis.  It  would  not  have 
218 


The  Jamesons 

been  so  ludicrous  had  not  poor  Mr.  Jame- 
son, evidently  seeing  the  mistake,  and  his 
face  blazing,  yet  afraid  to  desert  his  wife's 
standard,  followed  her  dutifully  just  a 
few  words  in  the  rear.  While  Mrs. 
Jameson  was  beside  the  still  waters,  Mr. 
Jameson  was  in  the  green  pastures,  and 
so  on.  I  pitied  the  Jameson  girls.  Har- 
riet looked  ready  to  cry  with  mortifica- 
tion, and  Sarah  looked  so  alarmed  that  I 
did  not  know  but  she  would  run  out  of 
the  church.  As  for  Cobb,  he  kept  staring 
at  his  mother,  and  opening  his  mouth  to 
speak,  and  swallowing  and  never  saying 
anything,  until  it  seemed  as  if  he  might 
go  into  convulsions.  People  tried  not  to 
laugh,  but  a  little  repressed  titter  ran  over 
the  congregation,  and  the  minister's  voice 
shook.  Mrs.  Jameson  was  the  only  one 
who  did  not  appear  in  the  least  disturbed ; 
she  did  not  seem  to  realize  that  she  had 
done  anything  unusual. 

Caroline  Liscom  was  not  at  church — 
indeed,  she  had  not  been  much  since  the 
219 


They  Take  a  Farm 

boarders  arrived ;  she  had  to  stay  at  home 
to  get  the  dinner.  Louisa  and  I  won- 
dered whether  she  was  relieved  or  dis- 
turbed at  losing  her  boarders,  and  whether 
we  should  ever  know  which.  When  we 
passed  the  Wray  house  on  our  way  home, 
and  saw  the  blinds  open,  and  the  fresh 
mould  in  the  garden,  and  the  new  shin- 
gles shining  on  the  hen-house  roof,  we 
speculated  about  it. 

"Caroline  had  them  about  nine  weeks, 
and  at  fifteen  dollars  a  week  she  will  have 
one  hundred  and  thirty-five  dollars,"  said 
Louisa.  "That  will  buy  her  something 
extra. " 

"  I  know  that  she  has  been  wanting 
some  portieres  for  her  parlor,  and  a  new 
set  for  her  spare  chamber,  and  maybe  that 
is  what  she  will  get,"  said  I.  And  I  said 
furthermore  that  I  hoped  she  would  feel 
paid  for  her  hard  work  and  the  strain  it 
must  have  been  on  her  mind. 

Louisa  and  I  are  not  very  curious,  but 
the  next  day  we  did  watch  —  though 
220 


The  Jamesons 

rather  furtively — the   Jamesons  moving 
into  the  old  Wray  house. 

All  day  we  saw  loads  of  furniture  pass- 
ing, which  must  have  been  bought  in 
Orover.  So  many  of  the  things  were 
sewed  up  in  burlap  that  we  could  not  tell 
much  about  them,  which  was  rather  un- 
fortunate. It  was  partly  on  this  account 
that  we  did  not  discourage  Tommy  Gregg 
— who  had  been  hanging,  presumably 
with  his  mother's  connivance,  around  the 
old  Wray  house  all  day — from  reporting 
to  us  as  we  were  sitting  on  the  front  door- 
step in  the  twilight.  Mrs.  Peter  Jones 
and  Amelia  Powers  had  run  over,  and 
were  sitting  there  with  Louisa  and  me. 
Little  Alice  had  gone  to  bed ;  we  had  re- 
fused to  allow  her  to  go  to  see  what  was 
going  on,  and  yet  listened  to  Tommy 
Gregg's  report,  which  was  not,  I  suppose, 
to  our  credit.  I  have  often  thought  that 
punctilious  people  will  use  cats '-paws  to 
gratify  curiosity  when  they  would  scorn 
to   use   them   for  anything  else.     Still, 

221 


They  Take  a  Farm 

neither  Louisa  nor  I  would  have  actually* 
beckoned  Tommy  Gregg  up  to  the  door, 
as  Mrs.  Jones  did,  though  I  suppose  we 
had  as  much  cause  to  be  ashamed,  for  we 
certainly  listened  full  as  greedily  as  she. 

It  seemed  to  me  that  Tommy  had  seen 
all  the  furniture  unpacked,  and  much  of 
it  set  up,  by  lurking  around  in  the  silent, 
shrinking,  bright-eyed  fashion  that  he 
has.  Tommy  Gregg  is  so  single-minded 
in  his  investigations  that  I  can  easily 
imagine  that  he  might  seem  as  impersonal 
as  an  observant  ray  of  sunlight  in  the 
window.  Anyway,  he  had  evidently  seen 
everything,  and  nobody  had  tried  to  stop 
him. 

"It  ain't  very  handsome,"  said  Tommy 
Gregg  with  a  kind  of  disappointment  and 
wonder.  "  There  ain't  no  carpets  in  the 
house  except  in  Grandma  Cobb's  room, 
and  that's  jest  straw  mattin' ;  and  there's 
some  plain  mats  without  no  roses  on  'em ; 
and  there  ain't  no  stove  'cept  in  the 
kitchen;  jest  old  andirons  like  mother 
222 


The  Jamesons 

keeps  up  garret;  and  there  ain't  no  stuffed 
furniture  at  all ;  and  they  was  eatin'  sup- 
per without  no  table-cloth." 

Amelia  Powers  and  Mrs.  Jones  thought 
that  it  was  very  singular  that  the  Jame- 
sons had  no  stuffed  furniture,  but  Louisa 
and  I  did  not  feel  so.  We  had  often 
wished  that  we  could  afford  to  change  the 
haircloth  furniture,  which  I  had  had 
when  I  was  married,  for  some  pretty  rat- 
tan or  plain  wood  chairs.  Louisa  and  I 
rather  fancied  the  Jamesons'  style  of 
house-furnishing  when  we  called  there. 
It  was  rather  odd,  certainly,  from  our 
Tillage  standpoint,  and  we  were  not  ac- 
customed to  see  bare  floors  if  people 
could  possibly  buy  a  carpet;  the  floors 
were  pretty  rough  in  the  old  house,  too. 
It  did  look  as  if  some  of  the  furniture 
was  sliding  down-hill,  and  it  was  quite 
a  steep  descent  from  the  windows  to  the 
chimney  in  all  the  rooms.  Of  course,  a 
carpet  would  have  taken  off  something  of 
that  effect.  Another  thing  struck  us  as 
223 


They  Take  a  Farm 

odd,  and  really  scandalized  the  village  at 
large:  the  Jamesons  had  taken  down 
every  closet  and  cupboard  door  in  the 
house.  They  had  hung  curtains  before 
the  clothes- closets,  but  the  shelves  of  the 
pantry  which  opened  out  of  the  dining- 
room,  and  the  china-closet  in  the  parlor, 
were  quite  exposed,  and  furnished  with, 
to  us,  a  very  queer  assortment  of  dishes. 
The  Jamesons  had  not  one  complete  set, 
and  very  few  pieces  alike.  They  had 
simply  ransacked  the  neighborhood  for 
forsaken  bits  of  crockery-ware,  the  rem- 
nants of  old  wedding-sets  which  had  been 
long  stored  away  on  top  shelves,  or  used 
for  baking  or  preserving  purposes. 

I  remember  Mrs.  Gregg  laughing,  and 
saying  that  the  Jamesons  were  tickled  to 
death  to  get  some  old  blue  cups  which 
she  had  when  she  was  married  and  did 
not  pay  much  for  then,  and  had  used  for 
fifteen  years  to  put  up  her  currant  jelly 
in;  and  had  paid  her  enough  money  for 
them  to  make  up  the  amount  which  she 
224 


The  Jamesons 

had  been  trying  to  earn,  by  selling  eggs, 
to  buy  a  beautiful  new  tea-set  of  a  brown- 
and- white  ware.  I  don't  think  the  Jame- 
sons paid  much  for  any  of  the  dishes 
which  they  bought  in  our  village ;  we  are 
not  very  shrewd  people,  and  it  did  not 
seem  right  to  ask  large  prices  for  articles 
which  had  been  put  to  such  menial  uses. 
I  think  many  things  were  given  them. 
I  myself  gave  Harriet  Jameson  an  old 
blue  plate  and  another  brown  one  which 
I  had  been  using  to  bake  extra  pies  in 
when  my  regular  pie-plates  gave  out. 
They  were  very  discolored  and  cracked, 
but  I  never  saw  anybody  more  pleased 
than  Harriet  was. 

I  suppose  the  special  feature  of  the 
Jamesons'  household  adornments  which 
roused  the  most  comment  in  the  village 
was  the  bean-pots.  The  Jamesons,  who 
did  not  like  baked  beans  and  never  cooked 
them,  had  bought,  or  had  given  them, 
a  number  of  old  bean-pots,  and  had  them 
fitting  about  the  floor  and  on  the  tables 
225 


They  Take  a  Farm 

with  wild  flowers  in  them.  People  could 
not  believe  that  at  first;  they  thought 
they  must  be  some  strange  kind  of  vase 
which  they  had  had  sent  from  New  York. 
They  cast  sidelong  glances  of  sharpest 
scrutiny  at  them  when  they  called.  When 
they  discovered  that  they  were  actually 
bean-pots,  and  not  only  that,  but  were 
sitting  on  the  floor,  which  had  never  been 
considered  a  proper  place  for  bean-pots  in 
any  capacity,  they  were  really  surprised. 
Mora  Clark  said  that  for  her  part  her 
bean-pot  went  into  the  oven  with  beans  in 
it,  instead  of  into  the  corner  with  flowers 
in  it,  as  long  as  she  had  her  reason.  But 
I  must  say  I  did  not  quite  agree  with  her. 
I  have  only  one  bean-pot,  and  we  eat 
beans,  therefore  mine  has  to  be  kept 
sacred  to  its  original  mission ;  and  I  must 
say  that  I  thought  Mrs.  Jameson's  with 
goldenrod  in  it  really  looked  better  than 
mine  with  beans.  I  told  Louisa  that  I 
could  not  see  why  the  original  states  of 
inanimate  things  ought  to  be  remembered 
226 


The  Jamesons 

against  them  when  they  were  elevated  to 
finer  uses  any  more  than  those  of  people, 
and  now  that  the  bean-pot  had  become  a 
vase  in  a  parlor  why  its  past  could  not  be 
forgotten.  Louisa  agreed  with  me,  but 
I  don't  doubt  that  many  people  never 
looked  at  those  pots  full  of  goldenrod 
without  seeing  beans.  It  was  to  my 
way  of  thinking  more  their  misfortune 
than  the  Jamesons'  mistake;  and  they 
made  enough  mistakes  which  were  not  to 
be  questioned  not  to  have  the  benefit  of 
any  doubt. 

Soon  the  Jamesons,  with  their  farm, 
were  the  standing  joke  in  our  village.  I 
had  never  known  there  was  such  a  strong 
sense  of  humor  among  us  as  their  pro- 
ceedings awakened.  Mr.  H.  Boardman 
Jameson  did  not  remain  in  Fairville  long, 
as  he  had  to  return  to  his  duties  at 
the  custom-house.  Mrs.  Jameson,  who 
seemed  to  rouse  herself  suddenly  from 
the  languid  state  which  she  had  assumed 
at  times,  managed  the  farm.  She  cer- 
227 


They  Take  a  Farm 

tainly  had  original  ideas  and  the  courage 
of  her  convictions. 

She  stopped  at  nothing;  even  Nature 
herself  she  had  a  try  at,  like  some  met- 
tlesome horse  which  does  not  like  to  be 
balked  by  anything  in  the  shape  of  a 
wall- 
Old  Jonas  Martin  was  a  talker,  and  he 
talked  freely  about  the  people  for  whom 
he  worked.  "Old  Deacon  Sears  had  a 
cow  once  that  would  jump  everything. 
Wa'n't  a  wall  could  be  built  that  was 
high  enough  to  stop  her,"  he  would  say. 
"  'Tain't  no  ways  clear  to  my  mind  that 
she  ain't  the  identical  critter  that  jumped 
the  moon ; — and  I  swan  if  Mis'  Jameson 
ain't  like  her.  There  ain't  nothin'  that's 
goin'  to  stop  her;  she  ain't  goin'  to  be 
hendered  by  any  sech  little  things  as 
times  an'  seasons  an'  frost  from  raisin' 
corn  an'  green  peas  an'  flowers  in  her 
garden.  'The  frost'll  be  a-nippin'  of  'em, 
marm,'  says  I,  'as  soon  as  they  come  up, 
marm/  'I  wish  vou  to  leave  that  to  me, 
228 


The  Jamesons 

my  good  man,'  says  she.  Law,  she  ain't 
a-goin'  to  hev  any  frost  a-nippin'  her  gar- 
den unless  she's  ready  for  it.  And  as  for 
the  chickens,  I  wouldn't  like  to  be  in 
their  shoes  unless  they  hatch  when  Mis1 
Jameson  she  wants  'em  to.  They  have 
to  do  everything  else  she  wants  'em  to, 
and  I  dunno  but  they'll  come  to  time  on 
that.  They're  the  fust  fowls  I  ever  see 
that  a  woman  could  stop  scratchm'." 

With  that,  old  Jonas  Martin  would 
pause  for  a  long  cackle  of  mirth,  and  his 
auditor  would  usually  join  him,  for  Mrs. 
Jameson's  hens  were  enough  to  awaken 
merriment,  and  no  mistake.  Louisa  and 
I  could  never  see  them  without  laughing 
enough  to  cry;  and  as  for  little  Alice, 
who,  like  most  gentle,  delicate  children, 
was  not  often  provoked  to  immoderate 
laughter,  she  almost  went  into  hysterics. 
"We  rather  dreaded  to  have  her  catch 
sight  of  the  Jameson  hens.  There  were 
twenty  of  them,  great,  fat  Plymouth 
Rocks,  and  every  one  cf  them  in  shoes, 
229 


They  Take  a  Farm 

■which  were  made  of  pieces  of  thick  cloth 
sewed  into  little  bags  and  tied  firmly 
around  the  legs  of  the  fowls,  and  they 
were  effectually  prevented  thereby  from 
scratching  up  the  garden  seeds.  The 
gingerly  and  hesitating  way  in  which 
these  hens  stepped  around  the  Jameson 
premises  was  very  funny.  It  was  quite 
a  task  for  old  Jonas  Martin  to  keep  the 
hens  properly  shod,  for  the  cloth  buskins 
had  to  be  often  renewed;  and  distressed 
squawkings  amid  loud  volleys  of  aged 
laughter  indicated  to  us  every  day  what 
was  going  on. 

The  Jamesons  kept  two  Jersey  cows, 
and  Mrs.  Jameson  caused  their  horns  to 
be  wound  with  strips  of  cloth  terminating 
in  large,  soft  balls  of  the  same,  to  prevent 
their  hooking.  When  the  Jamesons  first 
began  farming,  their  difficulty  in  suiting 
themselves  with  cows  occasioned  much 
surprise.  They  had  their  pick  of  a  num- 
ber of  fine  ones,  but  invariably  took  them 
on  trial,  and  promptly  returned  them 
230 


The  Jamesons 

with  the  message  that  they  were  not  sat- 
isfactory. Old  Jonas  always  took  back 
the  cows,  and  it  is  a  question  whether  or 
not  he  knew  what  the  trouble  was,  and 
was  prolonging  the  situation  for  his  own 
enjoyment. 

At  last  it  came  out.  Old  Jonas  came 
leading  back  two  fine  Jerseys  to  Sim 
White's,  and  he  said,  with  a  great  chuckle : 
"  Want  to  know  what  aib  these  ere  crit- 
ters, Sim?  Well,  I'll  tell  ye:  they  ain't 
got  no  upper  teeth.  The  Jamesons  ain't 
goin'  to  git  took  in  with  no  cows  without 
no  teeth  in  their  upper  jaws,  you  bet." 

That  went  the  rounds  of  the  village. 
Mrs.  White  was  so  sorry  for  the  Jame- 
sons in  their  dilemma  of  ignorance  cf  our 
rural  wisdom  that  she  begged  Sim  to  go 
over  and  persuade  them  that  cows  were 
created  without  teeth  in  their  upper  jaw, 
and  that  the  cheating,  if  cheating  there 
were,  was  done  by  Nature,  and  all  men 
alike  were  victimized.  I  suppose  Mr. 
White  must  have  convinced  her,  for  they 
23* 


They  Take  a  Farm 

bought  the  cows ;  but  it  must  have  been 
a  sore  struggle  for  Mrs.  Jameson  at  least 
to  swallow  instruction,  for  she  had  the 
confidence  of  an  old  farmer  in  all  matters 
pertaining  to  a  farm. 

She,  however,  did  listen  readily  to  one 
singular  piece  of  information  which 
brought  much  ridicule  upon  them.  She 
chanced  to  say  to  Wilson  Gregg,  who  is 
something  of  a  wag,  and  had  just  sold  the 
Jamesons  a  nice  little  white  pig,  that  she 
thought  that  ham  was  very  nice  in  alter- 
nate streaks  of  fat  and  lean,  though  she 
never  ate  it  herself,  and  only  bought  the 
pig  for  the  sake  of  her  mother,  who  had 
old-fashioned  tastes  in  her  eating  and 
would  have  pork,  and  she  thought  that 
home-raised  would  be  so  much  healthier. 

"Why,  bless  you,  ma'am,"  said  he,  "if 
you  want  your  ham  streaky  all  you  have 
to  do  is  to  feed  the  pig  one  day  and  starve 
him  the  next." 

Tiie  Jamesons  tried  this  ingenious  plan ; 
then,  luckilv  for  the  pig,  old  Jonas,  who 


The  Jamesons 

had  chuckled  over  it  for  a  while,  revealed 
the  fraud  and  put  him  on  regular  rations. 
I  suppose  the  performance  of  the  Jame- 
sons which  amused  the  village  the  most 
was  setting  their  hens  on  hard-boiled 
eggs  for  sanitary  reasons.  That  seemed 
incredible  to  me  at  first,  but  we  had  it  on 
good  authority — that  of  Hannah  Bell,  a 
farmer's  daughter  from  the  West  Corners, 
who  worked  for  the  Jamesons.  She 
declared  that  she  told  Mrs.  Jameson 
that  hens  could  not  set  to  any  pur- 
pose on  boiled  eggs;  but  Mrs.  Jameson 
had  said  firmly  that  they  must  set  upon 
them  or  none  at  all ;  that  she  would  not 
have  eggs  about  the  premises  so  long 
otherwise ;  she  did  not  consider  it  sani- 
tary. Finally,  when  the  eggs  would 
not  hatch  submitted  to  such  treatment, 
even  at  her  command,  she  was  forced 
to  abandon  her  position,  though  even 
then  with  conditions  of  her  surrender  t« 
Nature.  She  caused  the  nests  to  be  well 
soaked  with  disinfectants. 
233 


They  Take  a  Farm 

The  Jamesons  shut  the  house  up  the 
last  of  October  and  went  back  to  the  city, 
and  I  think  most  of  us  were  sorry.  I 
was,  and  Louisa  said  that  she  missed 
them. 

Mrs.  Jameson  had  not  been  what  we 
call  neighborly  through  the  summer,  when 
she  lived  in  the  next  house.  Indeed,  I 
think  she  never  went  into  any  of  the 
village  houses  in  quite  a  friendly  and 
equal  way,  as  we  visit  one  another. 
Generally  she  came  either  with  a  view 
toward  improving  us — on  an  errand  of 
mercy  as  it  were,  which  some  resented — - 
or  else  upon  some  matter  of  business. 
Still  we  had,  after  all,  a  kindly  feeling 
for  her,  and  especially  for  Grandma  Cobb 
and  the  girls,  and  the  little  meek  boy. 
Grandma  Cobb  had  certainly  visited  us, 
and  none  of  us  were  clever  enough  to  find 
©ut  whether  it  was  with  a  patronizing 
spirit  or  not.  The  extreme  freedom 
which  she  took  with  our  houses,  almost 
seeming  to  consider  them  as  her  own, 
234 


The  Jamesons 

living  in  them  some  days  from  dawn  till 
late  at  night,  might  have  indicated  either 
patronage  or  the  utmost  democracy. 
We  missed  her  auburn-wigged  head  ap- 
pearing in  our  doorways  at  all  hours,  and 
there  was  a  feeling  all  over  the  village  as 
if  company  had  gone  home. 

I  missed  Harriet  more  than  any  of 
them.  During  the  last  of  the  time  she 
had  stolen  in  to  see  me  quite  frequently 
when  she  was  released  from  her  mother's 
guardianship  for  a  minute.  None  of  our 
village  girls  were  kept  as  close  as  the 
Jamesons.  Louisa  and  I  used  to  wonder 
whether  Mrs.  Jameson  kept  any  closer 
ward  because  of  Harry  Liscom.  He  cer- 
tainly never  went  to  the  Jameson  house. 
We  knew  that  either  Mrs.  Jameson  had 
prohibited  it,  or  his  own  mother.  We 
thought  it  must  be  Mrs.  Jameson,  for 
Harry  had  a  will  of  his  own,  as  well  as 
his  mother,  and  was  hardly  the  man  te 
yield  to  her  in  a  matter  of  this  kind  with- 
out a  struggle. 

235 


They  Take  a  Farm 

Though  Harry  did  not  go  to  the  Jame- 
son house,  I,  for  one,  used  to  see  two  sus- 
picious-looking figures  steal  past  the  house 
in  the  summer  evenings ;  but  I  said  noth- 
ing. There  was  a  little  grove  on  the 
north  side  of  our  house,  and  there  was  a 
bench  under  the  trees.  Often  I  used  to 
see  a  white  flutter  out  there  of  a  moon- 
light evening,  and  I  knew  that  Harriet 
Jameson  had  a  little  white  cloak.  Louisa 
saw  it  too,  but  we  said  nothing,  though 
we  more  than  suspected  that  Harriot 
must  steal  out  of  the  house  after  her 
mother  had  gone  to  her  room,  which  we 
knew  was  early.  Hannah  Bell  must 
know  if  that  were  the  case,  but  she  kept 
their  secret. 

Louisa  and  I  speculated  as  to  what 
was  our  duty  if  we  were  witnessing  clan- 
destine meetings,  but  we  could  never 
bring  our  minds  to  say  anything. 

The  night  before  the  Jamesons  left  it 
was  moonlight  and  there  was  a  hard  frost, 
and  I  saw  those  young  things  stealing 
236 


The  Jamesons 

down  the  road  for  their  last  stolen  meet- 
ing, and  I  pitied  them.  I  was  afraid,  too, 
that  Harriet  would  take  cold  in  the  sharp 
air.  I  thought  she  had  on  a  thin  cloak. 
Then  I  did  something  which  I  never 
quite  knew  whether  to  blame  myself  for 
or  not.  It  did  seem  to  me  that,  if  the 
girl  were  a  daughter  of  mine,  and  would 
in  any  case  have  a  clandestine  meeting 
with  her  lover,  I  should  prefer  it  to  be  in 
a  warm  house  rather  than  in  a  grove  on 
a  frosty  night.  So  I  caught  a  shawl 
from  the  table,  and  ran  out  to  the  front 
door,  and  called. 

"  Harry !  "  said  I,  "  is  that  you  ?  "  They 
started,  and  I  suppose  poor  Harriet  was 
horribly  frightened ;  but  I  tried  to  speak 
naturally,  and  as  if  the  two  being  there 
together  were  quite  a  matter  of  course. 

"  I  wonder  if  it  will  be  too  much  for 
me  to  ask  of  you,"  said  I,  when  Harry 
had  responded  quite  boldly  with  a  "  Good- 
evening,  Aunt  Sophia  " — he  used  to  call 
me  Aunt  when  he  was  a  child,  and  still 
237 


They  Take  a  Farm 

kept  it  up — "  I  wonder  if  it  will  be  too 
much  to  ask  if  you  two  will  just  step  in 
here  a  minute  while  I  run  down  to  Mrs. 
Jones'  ?  I  want  to  get  a  pattern  to  use 
the  first  thing  in  the  morning.  Louisa 
has  gone  to  meeting,  and  I  don't  like  to 
leave  Alice  alone." 

They  said  they  would  be  glad  to  come 
in,  though,  of  course,  with  not  as  much 
joy  as  they  felt  later,  when  they  saw  that 
I  meant  to  leave  them  to  themselves  for 
a  time. 

I  stayed  at  Mrs.  Jones'  until  I  knew 
that  Louisa  would  be  home  if  I  waited 
any  longer,  and  I  thought,  besides,  that 
the  young  people  had  been  alone  long 
enough.  Then  I  went  home.  I  suppose 
that  they  were  sorry  to  see  me  so  soon, 
but  they  looked  up  at  me  very  gratefully 
when  I  bade  them  good-night  and  thanked 
them.  I  said  quite  meaningly  that  it 
was  a  cold  night  and  there  would  be  a 
frost,  and  Harriet  must  be  careful  and 
not  take  cold.  I  thought  that  would  be 
-238 


The  Jamesons 

enough  for  Harry  Liscom,  unless  being  in 
love  had  altered  him  and  made  him  self- 
ish. I  did  not  think  he  would  keep  his 
sweetheart  out,  even  if  it  were  his  last 
chance  of  seeing  her  alone  for  so  long,  if 
he  thought  she  would  get  any  harm  by  it, 
especially  after  he  had  visited  her  for  a 
reasonable  length  of  time. 

I  was  right  in  my  opinion.  They  did 
not  turn  about  directly  and  go  home — I 
did  not  expect  that,  of  course — but  they 
walked  only  to  the  turn  of  the  road  the 
other  way;  then  I  saw  them  pass  the 
house,  and  presently  poor  Harry  returned 
alone. 

I  did  pity  Harry  Liscom  when  I  met 
him  on  the  street  a  few  days  after  the 
Jamesons  had  left.  I  guessed  at  once 
that  he  was  missing  his  sweetheart 
sorely,  and  had  not  yet  had  a  letter  from 
her.  He  looked  pale  and  downcast, 
though  he  smiled  as  he  lifted  his  hat  to 
me,  but  he  colored  a  little  as  if  he  sus- 
pected that  I  might  guess  his  secret. 
239 


They  Take  a  Farm 

I  met  him  the  next  day,  and  his  face 
was  completely  changed,  all  radiant  and 
glowing  with  the  veritable  light  of  youth- 
ful hope  upon  it.  lie  bowed  to  me  with 
such  a  flash  of  joy  in  his  smile  that  I 
felt  quite  warmed  by  it,  though  it  was 
none  of  mine.  I  thought,  though  I  said 
nothing,  "  Harry  Liscom,  you  have  had  a 
letter." 


THEIR   SECOND   SUMMER 

The  Jamesons  returned  to  Linnville 
the  first  of  June.  For  some  weeks  we 
had  seen  indications  of  their  coming. 
All  through  April  and  May  repairs  and 
improvements  had  been  going  on  in  their 
house.  Some  time  during  the  winter  the 
Jamesons  had  purchased  the  old  Wray 
place,  and  we  felt  that  they  were  to  be 
a  permanent  feature  in  our  midst. 

The  old  Wray  house  had  always  been 
(painted  white,  with  green  blinds,  as  were 
most  of  our  village  houses ;  now  it  was 
painted  red,  with  blinds  of  a  darker  shade. 
When  Louisa  and  I  saw  its  bright  walls 
through  the  budding  trees  we  were  some- 
what surprised,  but  thought  it  might  look 
rather  pretty  when  we  became  accustomed 
241 


Their  Second  Summer 

to  it.  Very  few  of  the  neighbors  agreed 
with  us,  however;  they  had  been  so  used 
to  seeing  the  walls  of  their  dwellings  white 
that  this  startled  them  almost  as  much  as 
a  change  of  color  in  their  own  faces  would 
have  done. 

"  We  might  as  well  sot  up  for  red  In- 
juns and  done  with  it,"  said  Mrs.  Gregg 
one  afternoon  at  the  sewing  circle. 
"What  anybody  can  want  anything  any 
prettier  than  a  neat  white  house  with 
green  blinds  for,  is  beyond  me." 

Every  month  during  the  winter  a  let- 
ter had  come  to  our  literary  society  in 
care  of  the  secretary,  who  was  my  sister- 
in-law,  Louisa  Field.  Louisa  was  al- 
ways secretary  because  she  was  a  school- 
teacher and  was  thought  to  have  her  hand 
in  at  that  sort  of  work.  Mrs.  Jameson 
wrote  a  very  kind,  if  it  was  a  somewhat 
patronizing,  sort  of  letter.  She  extended 
to  us  her  very  best  wishes  for  our  im- 
provement and  the  widening  of  our 
spheres,  and  made  numerous  suggestions 
242 


The  Jamesons 

which  she  judged  calculated  to  advance 
us  in  those  respects.  She  recommended 
selections  from  Eobert  Browning  to  be 
read  at  our  meetings,  and  she  sent  us 
some  copies  of  explanatory  and  critical 
essays  to  be  used  in  connection  with 
them.  She  also  in  March  sent  us  a  copy 
of  another  lecture  about  the  modern 
drama  which  she  had  herself  written  and 
delivered  before  her  current  literature 
club.  With  that  she  sent  us  some  works 
of  Ibsen  and  the  Belgian  writer,  Maeter- 
linck, with  the  recommendation  that  we 
devote  ourselves  to  the  study  of  them  at 
once,  they  being  eminently  calculated  for 
the  widening  of  our  spheres. 

Flora  Clark,  who  is  the  president  of 
the  society;  Mrs.  Peter  Jones,  who  is 
the  vice-president;  Louisa,  and  I,  who 
am  the  treasurer,  though  there  is  nothing 
whatever  to  treasure,  held  a  council  over 
the  books.  We  all  agreed  that  while  we 
were  interested  in  them  ourselves,  though 
they  were  a  strange  savor  to  our  mental 
243 


Their  Second  Summer 

palates,  yet  we  would  not  read  Mrs. 
Jameson's  letter  concerning  them  to  the 
society,  nor  advise  the  study  of  them. 

"  I,  for  one,  don't  like  to  take  the  re- 
sponsibility of  giving  the  women  of  this 
village  such  reading,"  said  Flora  Clark. 
"  It  may  be  improving  and  widening,  and 
it  certainly  is  interesting,  and  there  are 
fine  things  in  it,  but  it  does  not  seem  to 
me  that  it  would  be  wise  to  take  it  into 
the  society  when  I  consider  some  of  the 
members.  I  would  just  as  soon  think  of 
asking  them  to  tea  and  giving  them  noth- 
ing but  olives  and  Russian  caviare,  which, 
I  understand,  hardly  anybody  likes  at 
first.  I  never  tasted  them  myself.  We 
know  what  the  favorite  diet  of  this  vil- 
lage is ;  and  as  long  as  we  can  eat  it  our- 
selves it  seems  to  me  it  is  safer  than  to 
try  something  which  we  may  like  and 
everybody  else  starve  on,  and  I  guess  we 
haven't  exhausted  some  of  the  older,  sim- 
pler things,  and  that  there  is  some  nour- 
ishment to  be  gotten  out  of  them  yet  for 
244 


The  Jamesons 

all  of  us.  It  is  better  for  us  all  to  eat 
bread  and  butter  and  pie  than  for  two  or 
three  of  us  to  eat  the  olives  and  caviare, 
and  the  rest  to  have  to  sit  gnawing  their 
forks  and  spoons." 

Mrs.  Peter  Jones,  who  is  sometimes 
thought  of  for  the  president  instead  of 
Flora,  bridled  a  little.  "I  suppose  you 
think  that  these  books  are  above  the  ladies 
of  this  village,"  said  she. 

"  I  don't  know  as  I  think  they  are  so 
much  above  as  too  far  to  one  side,"  said 
Flora.  "Sometimes  it's  longitude,  and 
sometimes  it's  latitude  that  separates  peo- 
pie.  I  don't  know  but  we  are  just  as  far 
from  Ibsen  and  Maeterlinck  as  they  are 
from  us." 

Louisa  and  I  thought  Flora  might  be 
right.  At  all  events,  we  did  not  wish 
to  set  ourselves  up  in  opposition  to  her. 
We  never  carried  the  books  into  the  soci- 
ety, and  we  never  read  Mrs.  Jameson's 
letter  about  them,  though  we  did  feel 
somewhat  guilty,  especially  as  we  reflected 

245 


Their  Second  Summer 

that  Flora  had  never  forgotten  the  affair 
of  the  jumbles,  and  might  possibly  have 
allowed  her  personal  feelings  to  influence 
her. 

"I  should  feel  very  sorry,"  said  Louisa 
to  me,  "  if  we  were  preventing  the  women 
of  this  village  from  improving  them- 
selves." 

"  Well,  we  can  wait  until  next  summer, 
and  let  Mrs.  Jameson  take  the  responsi- 
bility. I  don't  want  to  be  the  means  of 
breaking  up  the  society,  for  one,"  said  I. 

However,  when  Mrs.  Jameson  finally 
arrived  in  June,  she  seemed  to  be  on  a 
slightly  different  tack,  so  to  speak,  of 
improvement.  She  was  not  so  active  in 
our  literary  society  and  our  sewing  circle 
as  she  had  been  the  summer  before,  but 
now,  her  own  sphere  having  possibly  en- 
larged, she  had  designs  upon  the  village 
in  the  abstract. 

Hannah  Bell  came  over  from  the  West 
Corners  to  open  the  house  for  them,  and 
at  five  o'clock  we  saw  the  Grover  stage 
246 


The  Jamesons 

rattle  past  with  their  trunks  on  top,  and 
Grandma  Cobb  and  the  girls  and  Cobb 
looking  out  of  the  windows.  Mrs.  Jame- 
son, being  delicate,  was,  of  course,  leaning 
back,  exhausted  with  her  journey.  Jonas 
Martin,  who  had  been  planting  the  gar- 
den, was  out  at  the  gate  of  the  Wray 
house  to  help  the  driver  carry  in  the 
trunks,  and  Hannah  Bell  was  there  too. 

Louisa  and  I  had  said  that  it  seemed 
almost  too  bad  not  to  have  some  one  of 
the  village  women  go  there  and  welcome 
them,  but  we  did  not  know  how  Mrs.  H. 
Boardman  Jameson  might  take  it,  and 
nobody  dared  go.  Mrs.  White  said  that 
she  would  have  been  glad  to  make  some 
of  her  cream  biscuits  and  send  them  over, 
but  she  knew  that  Mrs.  Jameson  would 
not  eat  them,  of  course,  and  she  did  not 
know  whether  she  would  like  any  of  the 
others  to,  and  might  think  it  a  liberty. 

So  nobody  did  anything  but  watch.  It 
was  not  an  hour  after  the  stage  coach  ar- 
rived before  we  saw  Grandma  Cobb  com* 
247 


Their  Second  Summer 

ing  up  the  road.  We  did  not  know 
whether  she  was  going  to  Amelia  Powers', 
or  Mrs.  Jones',  or  to  our  house;  but  she 
turned  in  at  our  gate. 

We  went  to  the  door  to  meet  her,  and 
I  must  say  she  did  seem  glad  to  see  us, 
and  we  were  glad  to  see  her.  In  a  very 
short  time  we  knew  all  that  had  happened 
in  the  Jameson  family  since  they  had  left 
Linnville,  and  with  no  urging,  and  with 
even  some  reluctance  on  our  part.  It  did 
not  seem  quite  right  for  us  to  know  how 
much  Mrs.  Jameson  had  paid  her  dress- 
maker for  making  her  purple  satin,  and 
still  less  so  for  us  to  know  that  she  had 
not  paid  for  the  making  of  her  black  lace 
net  and  the  girls'  organdy  muslins,  though 
she  had  been  dunned  three  times.  The 
knowledge  was  also  forced  upon  us  that 
all  these  fine  new  clothes  were  left  in  New 
York,  since  the  shabby  old  ones  must  be 
worn  out  in  the  country,  and  that  Harriet 
had  cried  because  she  could  not  bring 
some  of  her  pretty  gowns  with  her. 
8  248 


The  Jamesons 

*  Her  mother  does  not  think  that  there 
is  any  chance  of  her  making  a  match  here, 
and  she  had  better  save  them  up  till  next 
winter.  Dress  does  make  so  much  differ- 
ence in  a  girl's  prospects,  you  know,"  said 
Grandma  Cobb  shrewdly. 

I  thought  of  poor  Harry  Liscom,  and 
how  sorry  his  little  sweetheart  must  have 
felt  not  to  be  able  to  show  herself  in  her 
pretty  dresses  to  him.  However,  I  was 
exceedingly  glad  to  hear  that  she  had 
cried,  because  it  argued  well  for  Harry, 
and  looked  as  if  she  had  not  found  another 
lover  more  to  her  mind  in  New  York. 

Indeed,  Grandma  Cobb  informed  us  pre- 
sently as  to  that.  "  Harriet  does  not  seem 
to  find  anybody,"  said  she.  "  I  suppose  it 
is  because  H.  Boardman  lost  his  money ; 
young  men  are  so  careful  nowadays." 

Grandma  Cobb  stayed  to  tea  with  us 
that  night ;  our  supper  hour  came,  and  of 
course  we  asked  her. 

Grandma  Cobb  owned  with  the  greatest 
frankness  that  she  should  like  to  stay. 
249 


Their  Second  Summer 

u  There  isn't  a  thing  to  eat  at  our  house 
but  hygienic  biscuits  and  eggs/  said  she. 
"  My  daughter  wrote  Hannah  not  to  cook 
anything  until  we  came;  Hannah  would 
have  made  some  cake  and  pie,  otherwise. 
I  tell  my  daughter  I  have  got  so  far  along 
in  life  without  living  on  hygienic  food, 
and  I  am  not  going  to  begin.  I  want  to 
get  a  little  comfort  out  of  the  taste  of  my 
victuals,  and  my  digestion  is  as  good  as 
hers,  in  spite  of  all  her  fussing.  For  my 
part,"  continued  Grandma  Cobb,  who  had 
at  times  an  almost  coarsely  humorous 
method  of  expressing  herself,  "  I  believe 
in  not  having  your  mind  on  your  inwards 
any  more  than  you  can  possibly  help.  I 
believe  the  best  way  to  get  along  with 
them  is  to  act  as  if  they  weren't  there." 

After  Grandma  Cobb  went  home,  as  late 
as  nine  o'clock,  I  saw  a  clinging,  shadowy 
couple  stroll  past  our  house,  and  knew  it 
was  Harriet  Jameson  and  Harry,  as  did 
Louisa,  and  our  consciences  began  to  trou- 
ble us  again. 

250 


The  Jamesons 

*  I  feel  like  a  traitor  to  Caroline  and  to 
Mrs.  Jameson  sometimes, "  said  I. 

"  Well,  maybe  that  is  better  than  to  be 
traitor  to  true  love,"  said  Louisa,  which 
did  sound  rather  sentimental. 

The  next  morning  about  eleven  o'clock 
Mrs.  Jameson  came  in,  and  we  knew  at 
once  that  she  was,  so  to  speak,  fairly 
rampant  in  the  field  of  improvement  for 
our  good,  or  rather  the  good  of  the  village, 
for,  as  I  said  before,  she  was  now  resolved 
upon  the  welfare  of  the  village  at  large, 
and  not  that  of  individuals  or  even  socie- 
ties. 

"I  consider  that  my  own  sphere  has 
been  widened  this  winter,"  said  Mrs. 
Jameson,  and  Louisa  and  I  regarded  her 
with  something  like  terror.  Flora  Clark 
said,  when  she  heard  that  remark  of  Mrs. 
Jameson's,  that  she  felt,  for  her  part,  as  if 
a  kicking  horse  had  got  out  of  the  pasture, 
and  there  was  no  knowing  where  he  would 
stop. 

We  supposed  that  it  must  be  an  evi- 
25i 


Their  Second  Summer 

dence  of  Mrs.  Jameson's  own  advance  in 
improvement  that  she  had  adopted  such 
a  singular  costume,  according  to  our  ideas. 
She  was  dressed  no  longer  in  the  rich 
fabrics  which  had  always  aroused  our  ad- 
miration, but,  instead,  wore  a  gown  of 
brown  cloth  cut  short  enough  to  expose 
her  ankles,  which  were,  however,  covered 
with  brown  gaiters  made  of  cloth  like  her 
dress.  She  wore  a  shirt-waist  of  brown 
silk,  and  a  little  cutaway  jacket.  Mrs. 
Jameson  looked  as  if  she  were  attired  for 
riding  the  wheel,  but  that  was  a  form  of 
exercise  to  which  she  was  by  no  means 
partial  either  for  herself  or  for  her  daugh- 
ters. I  could  never  understand  just  why 
she  was  not  partial  to  wheeling.  Wheels 
were  not  as  fashionable  then  as  now,  but 
Mrs.  Jameson  was  always  quite  up  with, 
if  not  in  advance  of,  her  age. 

Neither  of  us  admired  her  in  this  cos- 
tume. Mrs.  Jameson  was  very  stout,  and 
the  short  skirt  was  not,  to  our  way  of.' 
thinking,  becoming. 

252 


The  Jamesons 

*  Don't  you  think  that  I  have  adopted 
a  very  sensible  and  becoming  dress  for 
country  wear? "  said  she,  and  Louisa  and 
I  did  not  know  what  to  say.  We  did 
not  wish  to  be  untruthful  and  we  disliked 
to  be  impolite.  Finally,  Louisa  said 
faintly  that  she  thought  it  must  be  very 
convenient  for  wear  in  muddy  weather, 
and  I  echoed  her. 

"  Of  course,  you  don't  have  to  hold  it 
up  at  all,"  said  I. 

"  It  is  the  only  costume  for  wear  in  the 
country,"  said  Mrs.  Jameson,  "and  I  hope 
to  have  all  the  women  in  Linnville  wear- 
ing it  before  the  summer  is  over." 

Louisa  and  I  glanced  at  each  other  in 
dismay.  I  think  that  we  both  had  men- 
tal pictures  of  some  of  the  women  whom 
we  knew  in  that  costume.  Some  of  our 
good,  motherly,  village  faces,  with  their 
expressions  of  homely  dignity  and  Chris- 
tian decorousness,  looking  at  us  from  un- 
der that  jaunty  English  walking-hat,  in 
lieu  of  their  sober  bonnets,  presented  them- 
253 


Their  Second  Summer 

selves  to  our  imaginations,  and  filled  us 
with  amusement  and  consternation. 

"  Only  think  how  Mrs.  Sim  White  would 
look,"  Louisa  said  after  Mrs.  Jameson  had 
gone,  and  we  both  saw  Mrs.  White  going 
down  the  street  in  that  costume  indicative 
of  youthful  tramps  over  long  stretches  of 
road,  and  mad  spins  on  wheels,  instead  of 
her  nice,  softly  falling  black  cashmere 
skirts  covering  decently  her  snowy  stock- 
ings and  her  cloth  congress  boots ;  and  we 
shuddered. 

"Of  course,  she  would  have  to  wear 
gaiters  like  Mrs.  Jameson,"  said  Louisa, 
"but  it  would  be  dreadful." 

"Well,  there's  one  comfort,"  said  I; 
"  Mrs.  White  will  never  wear  it. " 

"Nor  anybody  else,"  said  Louisa. 

Still  we  did  feel  a  little  nervous  about 
it;  there  is  never  any  estimating  the  in- 
fluence of  a  reformer.  However,  we  were 
sure  of  ourselves.  Louisa  and  I  agreed 
that  we  never  would  be  seen  out  in  any 
such  costume.  Not  very  many  in  the 
254 


The  Jamesons 

village  were.  There  were  a  few  women, 
who  were  under  the  influence  of  Mrs. 
Jameson,  who  did  cut  off  some  of  their 
old  dresses  and  make  themselves  some 
leggings  with  hers  for  a  pattern.  After 
their  housework  was  done  they  started  off 
for  long  tramps  with  strides  of  indepen- 
dence and  defiance,  but  they  did  not  keep 
it  up  very  long ;  none  of  them  after  Mrs. 
Jameson  went  away.  To  tell  the  truth, 
most  of  the  women  in  our  village  had  so 
much  work  to  do,  since  they  kept  no  ser- 
vants, that  they  could  not  take  many  ten- 
mile  walks,  no  matter  what  length  skirts 
they  wore.  However,  many  wore  the 
short  ones  while  doing  housework,  which 
was  very  sensible. 

During  that  morning  call,  Mrs.  Jame- 
son, besides  the  reformed  costume,  advo- 
cated another  innovation  which  fairly  took 
our  breaths  away.  She  was  going  to  beau- 
tify the  village.  We  had  always  consid- 
ered the  village  beautiful  as  it  was,  and 
we  bridled  a  little  at  that. 
255 


Their  Second  Summer 

"  There  is  scarcely  a  house  in  this  vil- 
lage which  is  overgrown  with  vines,"  said 
she.     "I  am  going  to  introduce  vines." 

Louisa  ventured  to  say  that  she  thought 
vines  very  pretty,  but  she  knew  some  peo- 
ple objected  to  them  on  the  score  of  spi- 
ders, and  also  thought  that  they  were  bad 
for  the  paint.  We  poor,  frugal  village 
folk  have  always  to  consider  whether 
beauty  will  trespass  on  utility,  and  con- 
sequently dollars  and  cents.  There  are 
many  innocent  slaves  to  Mammon  in  our 
midst. 

Mrs.  Jameson  sniffed  in  her  intensely 
scornful  way.  "  Spiders  and  paint !  "  said 
she.  "  I  am  going  to  have  the  houses  of 
this  village  vine-clad.  It  is  time  that 
the  people  were  educated  in  beauty." 

"People  won't  like  it  if  she  does  go  to 
planting  vines  around  their  houses  with- 
out their  permission,  even  if  she  does 
mean  well,"  said  Louisa  after  she  had 
gone. 

"  She  never  will  dare  to  without  their 
256 


The  Jamesons 

permission,"  said  I ;  but  I  wondered  while 
I  spoke,  and  Louisa  laughed. 

"Don't  you  be  too  sure  of  that,"  said 
she — and  she  was  right. 

Permission  in  a  few  cases  Mrs.  Jame- 
son asked,  and  in  the  rest  she  assumed. 
Old  Jonas  Martin  ransacked  the  woods 
for  vines — clematis  and  woodbine — then 
he,  with  Mrs.  Jameson  to  superintend, 
set  them  out  around  our  village  houses. 
The  calm  insolence  of  benevolence  with 
which  Mrs.  Jameson  did  this  was  inim- 
itable. People  actually  did  not  know 
whether  to  be  furious  or  amused  at  this 
liberty  taken  with  their  property.  They 
saw  with  wonder  Mrs.  Jameson,  with  old 
Jonas  following  laden  with  vines  and 
shovel,  also  the  girls  and  Cobb,  who  had 
been  pressed,  however  unwillingly,  into 
service,  tagging  behind  trailing  with  wood- 
bine and  clematis ;  they  stood  by  and  saw 
their  house-banks  dug  up  and  the  vines  set, 
and  in  most  cases  said  never  a  word.  If 
they  did  expostulate,  Mrs.  Jameson  only 
257 


Their  Second  Summer 

directed  Jonas  where  to  put  the  next  vine, 
and  assured  the  bewildered  owner  of  the 
premises  that  he  would  in  time  thank  her. 

However,  old  Jonas  often  took  the  irate 
individual  aside  for  a  consolatory  word. 
"  Lord  a-massy,  don't  ye  worry,"  old  Jonas 
would  say,  with  a  sly  grin;  "ye  know 
well  enough  that  there  won't  a  blamed 
one  of  the  things  take  root  without  no 
sun  an'  manure ;  might  as  well  humor  her 
long  as  she's  sot  on  't." 

Then  old  Jonas  would  wink  slowly 
with  a  wink  of  ineffable  humor.  There 
was  no  mistaking  the  fact  that  old  Jonas 
was  getting  a  deal  of  solid  enjoyment  out 
of  the  situation.  He  had  had  a  steady, 
hard  grind  of  existence,  and  was  for  the 
first  time  seeing  the  point  of  some  of 
those  jokes  of  life  for  which  his  natural 
temperament  had  given  him  a  relish.  He 
acquired  in  those  days  a  quizzical  cock  to 
his  right  eyebrow,  and  a  comically  confi- 
dential quirk  to  his  mouth,  which  were 
in  themselves  enough  to  provoke  a  laugh  * 
258 


The  Jamesons 

Mrs.  Jameson,  however,  did  not  confine 
herself,  in  her  efforts  for  the  wholesale 
decoration  of  our  village,  to  the  planting 
of  vines  around  our  house -walls;  and 
there  were,  in  one  or  two  cases,  serious 
consequences. 

When,  thinking  that  corn-cockles  and 
ox-eyed  daisies  would  be  a  charming  com- 
bination at  the  sides  of  the  country  road, 
she  caused  them  to  be  sowed,  and  thereby 
introduced  them  into  Jonas  Green's  wheat- 
field,  he  expostulated  in  forcible  terms, 
and  threatened  a  suit  for  damages;  and 
when  she  caused  a  small  grove  of  promis- 
ing young  hemlocks  to  be  removed  from 
Eben  Betas'  woodland  and  set  out  in  the 
sandy  lot  in  which  the  schoolhouse  stands, 
without  leave  or  license,  it  was  generally 
conceded  that  she  had  exceeded  her  priv- 
ileges as  a  public  benefactress. 

I  said  at  once  there  would  be  trouble, 
when  Louisa  came  home  and  told  me 
about  it. 

"  The  schoolhouse  looks  as  if  it  were  set 
259 


Their  Second  Summer 

in  a  shady  grove,"  said  she,  "and  is  ever 
so  pretty.  The  worst  of  it  is,  of  course, 
the  trees  won't  grow  in  that  sand-hill." 

"  The  worst  of  it  is,  if  she  has  taken 
those  trees  without  leave  or  license,  as  I 
suspect,  Eben  Belts  will  not  take  it  as  a 
joke,"  said  I;   and  I  was  right. 

Mr.  IT.  Boardman  Jameson  had  to  pay 
a  goodly  sum  to  Eben  Betts  to  hush  the 
matter  up;  and  the  trees  soon  withered, 
and  were  cut  up  for  firewood  for  the 
schoolhouse.  People  blamed  old  Jonas 
Martin  somewhat  for  his  share  of  this 
transaction,  arguing  that  he  ought  not  to 
have  yielded  to  Mrs.  Jameson  in  such  a 
dishonest  transaction,  even  in  the  name 
of  philanthropy;  but  he  defended  himself, 
saying:  "It's  easy  'nough  to  talk,  but 
I'd  like  to  see  any  of  ye  stand  up  agin 
that  woman.  When  she  gits  headed,  it's 
either  git  out  from  under  foot  or  git 
knocked  over." 

Mrs.  Jameson  not  only  strove  to  estab- 
lish improvements  in  our  mids^,  but  she 
260 


The  Jamesons 

attacked  some  of  our  time-honored  insti- 
tutions, one  against  which  she  directed 
all  the  force  of  her  benevolent  will  being 
our  front  doors.  Louisa  and  I  had  always 
made  free  with  our  front  door,  as  had  some 
others ;  but,  generally  speaking,  people  in 
our  village  used  their  front  doors  only  for 
weddings,  funerals,  and  parties.  The  side 
doors  were  thought  to  be  good  enough  for 
ordinary  occasions,  and  we  never  dreamed, 
when  dropping  in  for  a  neighborly  call, 
of  approaching  any  other.  Mrs.  H. 
Boardman  Jameson  resolved  to  do  away 
with  this  state  of  things,  and  also  with 
our  sacred  estimate  of  the  best  parlors, 
which  were  scarcely  opened  from  one 
year's  end  to  the  other,  and  seemed  redo- 
lent of  past  grief  and  joy,  with  no  dilu- 
tion by  the  every-day  occurrences  of  life. 
Mrs.  Jameson  completely  ignored  the  side 
door,  marched  boldly  upon  the  front  one, 
and  compelled  the  mistress  to  open  it  to 
her  resolute  knocks.  Once  inside,  she 
advanced  straight  upon  the  sacred  pre- 
261 


Their  Second  Summer 

cincts  of  the  best  parlor,  and  seated  her- 
self in  the  chilly,  best  rocking-chair  with 
the  air  of  one  who  usurps  a  throne,  asking 
with  her  manner  of  sweet  authority  it'  the 
blinds  could  not  be  opened  and  the  sun 
let  in,  as  it  felt  damp  to  her,  and  she  was 
very  susceptible  to  dampness.  It  was 
told,  on  good  authority,  that  in  some 
cases  she  even  threw  open  the  blinds  and 
windows  herself  while  the  person  who 
admitted  her  was  calling  other  members 
of  the  family. 

It  was  also  reported  that  she  had  on 
several  occasions  marched  straight  up  W 
a  house  which  she  had  no  design  of  enter 
ing,  thrown  open  the  parlor  blinds,  and 
admitted  the  sunlight,  with  its  fading  in- 
fluence, on  the  best  carpet,  and  then  pro- 
ceeded down  the  street  with  the  bearing 
of  triumphant  virtue.  It  was  related  that 
in  a  number  of  instances  the  indignant 
housewife,  on  entering  her  best  parlor, 
found  that  the  sun  had  been  streaming  in 
there  all  day,  right  on  the  carpet. 
262 


The  Jamesons 

Mrs.  Jameson  also  waged  fierce  war  on 
another  custom  dear  to  the  average  village 
heart,  and  held  sacred,  as  everything 
should  be  which  is  innocently  dear  to 
one's  kind,  by  all  who  did  not  exactly 
approve  of  it. 

In  many  of  our  village  parlors,  some- 
times in  the  guest-chambers,  when  there 
had  been  many  deaths  in  the  family,  hung 
the  framed  coffin-plates  and  faded  funeral 
wreaths  of  departed  dear  ones.  Now  and 
then  there  was  a  wreath  of  wool  flowers, 
a  triumph  of  domestic  art,  which  encircled 
the  coffin-plate  instead  of  the  original 
funeral  garland.  Mrs.  Jameson  set  her- 
self to  work  to  abolish  this  grimly  pathetic 
New  England  custom  with  all  her  might. 
She  did  everything  but  actually  tear  them 
from  our  walls.  That,  even  in  her  fiery 
zeal  of  improvement,  she  did  not  quite 
dare  attempt.  She  made  them  a  constant 
theme  of  conversation  at  sewing  circle 
and  during  her  neighborly  calls.  She 
spoke  of  the  custom  quite  openly  as  grew- 
263 


Their  Second  Summer 

some  and  barbarous,  but  I  must  say  with- 
out much  effect.  Mrs.  Jameson  found 
certain  strongholds  of  long-established 
customs  among  us  which  were  impregna- 
ble to  open  rancor  or  ridicule — and  that 
was  one  of  them.  The  coffin-plates  and 
the  funeral  wreaths  continued  to  hang  in 
the  parlors  and  chambers. 

Once  Flora  Clark  told  Mrs.  Jameson  to 
her  face,  in  the  sewing  circle,  when  she 
had  been  talking  for  a  good  hour  about 
the  coffin-plates,  declaring  them  to  be 
grewsome  and  shocking,  that,  for  her  part, 
she  did  not  care  for  them,  did  not  have 
one  in  her  house — though  every  one  of 
her  relations  were  dead,  and  she  might 
have  her  walls  covered  with  them — but 
she  believed  in  respecting  those  who  did ; 
and  it  seemed  to  her  that,  however  much 
anybody  felt  called  upon  to  interfere  with 
the  ways  of  the  living,  the  relics  of  the 
dead  should  be  left  alone.  Flora  con- 
cluded by  saying  that  it  seemed  to  her 
that  if  the  Linnville  folks  let  Mrs.  Jame- 
9  264 


The  Jamesons 

son's  bean-pots  alone,  she  might  keep  her 
hands  off  their  coffin-plates. 

Mrs.  Jameson  was  quite  unmoved  even 
by  that.  She  said  that  Miss  Clark  did 
not  realize,  as  she  would  do  were  her 
sphere  wider,  the  incalculable  harm  that 
such  a  false  standard  of  art  might  do  in  a 
community:  that  it  might  even  pervert 
the  morals. 

"  I  guess  if  we  don't  have  anything  to 
hurt  our  morals  any  worse  than  our  coffin- 
plates,  we  shall  do,"  returned  Flora.  She 
said  afterward  that  she  felt  just  like  dig- 
ging up  some  of  her  own  coffin-plates,  and 
having  them  framed  and  hung  up,  and 
asking  Mrs.  Jameson  to  tea. 

All  through  June  and  a  part  of  July 
Louisa  and  I  had  seen  the  clandestine 
courtship  between  Harry  Liscom  and  Har- 
riet Jameson  going  on.  We  could  scarcely 
help  it.  "We  kept  wondering  why  neither 
Caroline  Liscom  nor  Mrs.  Jameson  seemed 
aware  of  it.  Of  course,  Mrs.  Jameson 
was  so  occupied  with  the  village  welfare 
265 


Their  Second  Summer 

that  it  might  account  for  it  in  her  case, 
but  we  were  surprised  that  Caroline  was 
so  blinded.  We  both  of  us  thought  that 
she  would  be  very  much  averse  to  the 
match,  from  her  well-known  opinion  of 
the  Jamesons ;  and  it  proved  that  she  was. 
Everybody  talked  so  much  about  Harry 
and  his  courtship  of  Harriet  that  it  seemed 
incredible  that  Caroline  should  not  hear 
of  it,  even  if  she  did  not  see  anything  her- 
self to  awaken  suspicion.  We  did  not 
take  into  consideration  the  fact  that  a 
strong-minded  woman  like  Caroline  Lis- 
com  has  difficulty  in  believing  anything 
which  she  does  not  wish  to  be  true,  and 
that  her  will  stands  in  her  own  way. 

However,  on  Wednesday  of  the  second 
week  of  July  both  she  and  Mrs.  Jameson 
had  their  eyes  opened  perforce.  It  was  a 
beautiful  moonlight  evening,  and  Louisa 
and  I  were  sitting  at  the  windows  looking 
out  and  chatting  peacefully.  Little  Alice 
had  gone  to  bed,  and  we  had  not  lit  the 
lamp,  it  was  so  pleasant  in  the  moonlight. 
266 


The  Jamesons 

Presently,  about  half-past  eight  o'clock, 
two  figures  strolled  by,  and  we  knew  who 
they  were. 

M  It  is  strange  to  me  that  Grandma  Cobb 
does  not  find  it  out,  if  Mrs.  Jameson  is 
too  wrapped  up  in  her  own  affairs  and 
with  grafting  ours  into  them,"  said  Louisa 
thoughtfully. 

I  remarked  that  I  should  not  be  sur- 
prised if  she  did  know ;  and  it  turned  out 
afterward  that  it  was  so.  Grandma  Cobb 
had  known  all  the  time,  and  Harriet  had 
gone  through  her  room  to  get  to  the  back 
stairs,  down  which  she  stole  to  meet 
Harry. 

The  young  couple  had  not  been  long 
past  when  a  stout,  tall  figure  went  hur- 
riedly by  with  an  angry  flirt  of  skirts — 
short  ones. 

"  Oh,  dear,  that  is  Mrs.  Jameson  S  "  cried 
Louisa. 

We  waited  breathless.  Harry  and  Har- 
riet could  have  gone  no  farther  than  the 
grove,  for  in  a  very  short  time  back  they 
267 


Their  Second  Summer 

all  came,  Mrs.  Jameson  leading — almost 
pulling — along  her  daughter,  and  Harry 
pressing  close  at  her  side,  with  his  arm 
half  extended  as  if  to  protect  his  sweet- 
heart. Mrs.  Jameson  kept  turning  and 
addressing  him ;  we  could  hear  the  angry 
clearness  of  her  voice,  though  we  could 
not  distinguish  many  words;  and  finally, 
when  they  were  almost  past  we  saw  poor 
Harriet  also  turn  to  him,  and  we  judged 
that  she,  as  well  as  her  mother,  was  beg- 
ging him  to  go,  for  he  directly  caught 
her  hand,  gave  it  a  kiss,  said  something 
which  we  almost  caught,  to  the  effect 
that  she  must  not  be  afraid — he  would 
take  care  that  all  came  out  right — and 
was  gone. 

"  Oh,  dear,"  sighed  Louisa,  and  I  echoed 
her.     I  did  pity  the  poor  young  things. 

To  our  surprise,  and  also  to  our  dis- 
may, it  was  not  long  before  we  saw  Mrs. 
Jameson  hurrying  back,  and  she  turned 
in  at  our  gate. 

Louisa  jumped  and  lighted  the  lamp, 
268 


The  Jamesons 

and  I  set  the  rocking-chair  for  Mrs. 
Jameson. 

"No,  I  can't  sit  down,"  said  she,  wav- 
ing her  hand.  "  I  am  too  much  disturbed 
to  sit  down,"  but  even  as  she  said  that 
she  did  drop  into  the  rocking  -  chair. 
Louisa  said  afterward  that  Mrs.  Jameson 
was  one  who  always  would  sit  down  dur- 
ing all  the  vicissitudes  of  life,  no  matter 
how  hard  she  took  them. 

Mrs.  Jameson  was  very  much  dis- 
turbed; we  had  never  seen  her  calm  su- 
periority so  shaken;  it  actually  seemed 
as  if  she  realized  for  once  that  she  was 
not  quite  the  peer  of  circumstances,  as 
Louisa  said. 

"  I  wish  to  inquire  if  you  have  known 
long  of  this  shameful  clandestine  love 
affair  of  my  daughter's?"  said  she,  and 
Louisa  and  I  were  nonplussed.  We  did 
not  know  what  to  say.  Luckily,  Mrs. 
Jameson  did  not  wait  for  an  answer; 
she  went  on  to  pour  her  grievance  into 
our  ears,  without  even  stopping  to  be  sure 
269 


Their  Second  Summer 

whether  they  were  sympathizing  ones  or 
not. 

"My  daughter  cannot  marry  into  one 
of  these  village  families,"  said  she,  with- 
out apparently  the  slightest  consideration 
of  the  fact  that  we  were  a  village  family. 
"  My  (laughter  has  been  very  differently 
brought  up.  I  have  other  views  for  her; 
it  is  impossible;  it  must  be  understood  at 
once  that  I  will  not  have  it." 

Mrs.  Jameson  was  still  talking,  and 
Louisa  and  I  listening  with  more  of  dis- 
may than  sympathy,  when  who  should 
walk  in  but  Caroline  Liscom  herself. 

She  did  not  knock — she  never  does ; 
she  opened  the  door  with  no  warning 
whatsoever,  and  stood  there. 

Louisa  turned  pale,  and  I  know  I  must 
have.  I  could  not  command  my  voice, 
though  I  tried  hard  to  keep  calm. 

I  said  "Good-morning,"  when  it  should 
have   been  "Good-evening,"  and   placed 
Alice's  little  chair,  in  which  she  could 
Bot  by  any  possibility  sit,  for  Caroline. 
270 


The  Jamesons 

"No,  I  don't  want  to  sit  down,"  said 
Caroline,  and  she  kept  her  word  better 
than  Mrs.  Jameson.  She  turned  directly 
to  the  latter.  "  I  have  just  been  over  to 
your  house,"  said  she,  "and  they  told  me 
that  you  had  come  over  here.  I  want  to 
say  something  to  you,  and  that  is,  I  don't 
want  my  son  to  marry  your  daughter,  and 
I  will  never  give  my  consent  to  it,  never, 
never  I " 

Mrs.  Jameson's  face  was  a  study.  For 
a  minute  she  had  not  a  word  to  say ;  she 
only  gasped.  Finally  she  spoke.  "  You 
can  be  no  more  unwilling  to  have  your 
son  marry  my  daughter  than  I  am  to  have 
my  daughter  marry  your  son,"  said  she. 

Then  Caroline  said  something  unex- 
pected. "I  would  like  to  know  what 
you  have  against  my  son,  as  fine  a  young 
man  as  there  is  anywhere  about,  I  don't 
care  who  he  is,"  said  she. 

And  Mrs.  Jameson  said  something 
unexpected.  "I  should  like  to  inquire 
271 


Their  Second  Summer 

what  you  have  against  my  daughter?" 
said  she. 

"  Well,  I'll  tell  you  one  thing,"  returned 
Caroline;  "she  doesn't  know  enough  to 
keep  a  doll-baby's  house,  and  she  ain't 
neat." 

Mrs.  Jameson  choked;  it  did  not  seem 
as  if  she  could  reply  in  her  usual  manner 
to  such  a  plain  statement  of  objections. 
She  and  Caroline  glared  at  each  other  a 
minute;  then  to  our  great  relief,  for  no 
one  wants  her  house  turned  into  the  seat 
of  war,  Caroline  simply  repeated,  "  I  shall 
never  give  my  consent  to  have  my  son 
marry  your  daughter,"  and  went  out. 

Mrs.  Jameson  did  not  stay  long  after 
that.  She  rose,  saying  that  her  nerves 
were  very  much  shaken,  and  that  she  felt 
it  sad  that  all  her  efforts  for  the  welfare 
and  improvement  of  the  village  should 
have  ended  in  this,  and  bade  us  a  mourn- 
ful good-evening  and  left. 

Louisa  and  I  had  an  impression  that 
she  held  us  in  some  way  responsible,  and 
272 


The  Jamesons 

we  could  not  see  why,  though  I  did  re- 
flect guiltily  how  I  had  asked  the  lovers 
into  my  house  that  October  night. 
Louisa  and  I  agreed  that,  take  it  alto- 
gether, we  had  never  seen  so  much 
mutual  love  and  mutual  scorn  in  'wo 
families. 


273 


VI 

THE    CENTENNIAL 

The  older  one  grows,  the  less  one  won- 
ders at  the  sudden,  inconsequent  turns 
which  an  apparently  reasonable  person 
will  make  in  a  line  of  conduct.  Still  I 
must  say  that  I  was  not  prepared  for 
what  Mrs.  H.  Boardman  Jameson  did  in 
about  a  week  after  she  had  declared  that 
her  daughter  should  never  marry  Harry 
Liscom :  capitulated  entirely,  and  gave  her 
consent. 

It  was  Grandma  Cobb  who  brought  us 
the  news,  coming  in  one  morning  before 
we  had  our  breakfast  dishes  washed. 

"My  daughter  told  Harriet  last  night 

that  she  had  written  to  her  father  and  he 

had  no  objections,  and  that  she  would 

withdraw  hers  on  further  consideration, " 

274 


The  Jamesons 

said  Grandma  Cobb,  with  a  curious,  un. 
conscious  imitation  of  Mrs.  Jameson's 
calm  state  of  manner.  Then  she  at  once 
relapsed  into  her  own.  "My  daughter 
says  that  she  is  convinced  that  the  young 
man  is  worthy,  though  he  is  not  socially 
quite  what  she  might  desire,  and  she  does 
not  feel  it  right  to  part  them  if  they  have 
a  true  affection  for  each  other,"  said 
Grandma  Cobb.  Then  she  added,  with  a 
shake  of  her  head  and  a  gleam  of  mali- 
cious truth  in  her  blue  eyes :  "  That  is  not 
the  whole  of  it;  Eobert  Browning  was 
the  means  of  bringing  it  about." 

"  Robert  Browning !  "  I  repeated.  I 
was  bewildered,  and  Louisa  stared  at  me 
in  a  frightened  way.  She  said  afterward 
that  she  thought  for  a  minute  that  Grand- 
ma Cobb  was  out  of  her  head. 

But  Grandma  Cobb  went  on  to  explain. 
"Yes,  my  daughter  seems  to  look  upon 
Eobert  Browning  as  if  everything  he  said 
was  written  on  tables  of  stone,"  said  she; 
"  and  last  night  she  had  a  letter  from  Mrs. 
275 


The  Centennial 

Addison  Sears,  who  feels  just  the  same 
way.  My  daughter  had  written  hei 
about  Harriet's  love  affair,  and  this  was 
in  answer.  Mrs.  Sears  dwelt  a  good  dea) 
upon  Mr.  Browning's  own  happy  marriage  ; 
and  then  she  quoted  passages;  and  my 
daughter  became  convinced  that  Robert 
Browning  would  have  been  in  favor  of 
the  match, — and  that  settled  it.  My 
daughter  proves  things  by  Browning  al- 
most the  same  way  as  people  do  by  Scrip- 
ture, it  seems  to  me  sometimes.  I  am 
thankful  that  it  has  turned  out  so," 
Grandma  Cobb  went  on  to  say,  "for  I 
like  the  young  man  myself;  and  as  for 
Harriet,  her  mind  is  set  on  him,  and 
she's  something  like  me:  once  get  her 
mind  set  on  anybody,  that's  the  end  of 
it.  My  daughter  has  got  the  same  trait, 
but  it  works  the  contrary  way :  when  she 
once  gets  her  mind  set  against  anybody, 
that's  the  end  of  it  unless  Robert  Brown- 
ing steps  in  to  turn  her." 

Louisa  and  I  were  heartily  glad  to  heat 
276 


The  Jamesons 

of  Mr.  Browning's  unconscious  interces- 
sion and  its  effect  upon  Mrs.  Jameson, 
but  we  wondered  what  Caroline  Liscom 
would  say. 

"It  will  take  more  than  passages  of 
poetry  to  move  her,"  said  Louisa  when 
Grandma  Cobb  had  gone. 

All  we  could  do  was  to  wait  for  devel- 
opments concerning  Caroline.  Then  one 
day  she  came  in  and  completely  opened 
her  heart  to  us  with  that  almost  alarm- 
ing frankness  which  a  reserved  woman 
often  displays  if  she  does  lose  her  self- 
restraint. 

"  I  can't  have  it  anyhow,"  said  Caroline 
Liscom ;  and  I  must  say  I  did  pity  her, 
though  I  had  a  weakness  for  little  Har- 
riet. "  I  feel  as  if  it  would  kill  me  if 
Harry  marries  that  girl — and  I  am  afraid 
he  will;  but  it  shall  never  be  with  my 
consent,  and  he  shall  never  bring  her  to 
my  house  while  I  am  in  it." 

Then  Caroline  went  on  to  make  revela- 
tions about  Harriet  which  were  actually 
277 


The   Centennial 

dire    accusations    from  a   New   England 
housewife  like  her. 

"  It  was  perfectly  awful  the  way  hei 
room  looked  while  she  was  at  my  house," 
said  Caroline ;  "  and  she  doesn't  know  how 
to  do  one  thing  ahout  a  house.  She  can't 
make  a  loaf  of  hread  to  save  her  life,  and 
she  has  no  more  idea  how  to  sweep  a  room 
and  dust  it  than  a  baby.  I  had  it  straight 
from  Hannah  Bell  that  she  dusted  her 
room  and  swept  it  afterward.  Think  of 
my  boy,  brought  up  the  way  he  has  been, 
everything  as  neat  as  wax,  if  I  do  say  it, 
and  his  victuals  always  cooked  nice,  and 
ready  when  he  wanted  them,  marrying  a 
girl  like  that.  I  can't  and  I  won't  have 
it.  It's  all  very  well  now,  he's  capti- 
vated by  a  pretty  face;  but  wait  a  little, 
and  he'll  find  out  there's  something  else. 
He'll  find  out  there's  comfort  to  be  con- 
sidered as  well  as  love.  And  she  don't 
even  know  how  to  do  plain  sewing. 
Only  look  at  the  bottoms  of  her  dress- 
es, with  the  braid  hanging ;   and  I  kno"W 


The  Jamesons 

she  never  mends  her  stockings — I  had 
it  from  the  woman  who  washes  them. 
Only  think  of  my  son,  who  has  always 
had  his  stockings  mended  as  smooth  as 
satin,  either  going  with  holes  in  them,  or 
else  having  them  gathered  up  in  hard 
bunches  and  getting  corns.  I  can't  and 
I  won't  have  it!  " 

Caroline  finished  all  her  remarks  with 
that,  setting  her  mouth  hard.  It  was 
evident  that  she  was  firm  in  her  decision. 
I  suggested  mildly  that  the  girl  had  never 
been  taught,  and  had  always  had  so  much 
money  that  she  was  excusable  for  not 
knowing  how  to  do  all  these  little  things 
which  the  Linnville  girls  had  been  forced 
to  do. 

■  I  know  all  that,"  said  Caroline ;  "  I  am 
not  blaming  her  so  much  as  I  am  her 
mother.  She  had  better  have  stopped 
reading  Browning  and  improving  her  own 
mind  and  the  village,  and  improved  her 
own  daughter,  so  she  could  walk  in  the 
way  Providence  has  set  for  a  woman 
279 


The  Centennial 

without  disgracing  herself.  But  I  am 
looking  at  her  as  she  is,  without  any 
question  of  blame,  for  the  sake  of  my 
son.  He  shall  not  marry  a  girl  who 
don't  know  how  to  make  his  home  com- 
fortable any  better  than  she  does — not  if 
his  mother  can  save  him  from  it." 

Louisa  asked  timidly — we  were  both 
of  us  rather  timid,  Caroline  was  so  fierce 
■ — if  she  did  not  think  she  could  teach 
Harriet. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  I  can  or  not!  " 
said  Caroline.  "  Anyway,  I  am  not  going 
to  try.  What  kind  of  a  plan  would  it  be 
for  me  to  have  her  in  the  house  teaching 
her,  where  Harry  could  see  her  every 
day,  and  perhaps  after  all  find  out  that 
it  would  not  amount  to  anything.  I'd 
rather  try  to  cure  drink  than  make  a 
good  housewife  of  a  girl  who  hasn't  been 
brought  up  to  it.  How  do  I  know  it's  in 
her?  And  there  I  would  have  her  right 
under  Harry's  nose.  She  shall  never 
marry  him;  I  can't  and  I  won't  have  it." 
10  280 


The  Jamesons 

Louisa  and  I  speculated  as  to  whether 
Caroline  would  be  able  to  help  it,  when 
she  had  taken  her  leave  after  what 
seemed  to  us  must  have  been  a  most  un- 
satisfactory call,  with  not  enough  sym- 
pathy from  us  to  cheer  her. 

"  Harry  Liscom  has  a  will,  as  well  as 
his  mother,  and  he  is  a  man  grown,  and 
running  the  woollen  factory  on  shares 
with  his  father,  and  able  to  support  a 
wife.  I  don't  believe  he  is  going  to 
stop,  now  the  girl's  mother  has  consented, 
because  his  mother  tells  him  to,"  said 
Louisa;  and  I  thought  she  was  right. 

That  very  evening  Harry  went  past  to 
the  Jamesons,  in  his  best  suit,  carrying 
a  cane,  which  he  swung  with  the  assured 
air  of  a  young  man  going  courting  where 
he  is  plainly  welcome. 

"I  am  glad  for  one  thing,"  said  I,  "and 
that  is  there  is  no  more  secret  strolling 
in  my  grove,  but  open  sitting  up  in  her 
mother's  parlor." 

Louisa  looked  at  me  a  little  uncertain- 
281 


The  Centennial 

ly,  and  I  saw  that  there  was  something 
which  she  wanted  to  say  and  did  not 
quite  dare. 

"What  is  it?  w  said  I. 

"Well,"  said  Louisa,  hesitatingly,  "I 
was  thinking  that  I  supposed — I  don't 
know  that  it  would  work  at  all — maybe 
her  mother  wouldn't  be  willing,  and 
maybe  she  wouldn't  be  willing  herself — 
but  I  was  thinking  that  you  were  as  good 
a  housekeeper  as  Caroline  Liscom,  and — 
you  might  have  the  girl  in  here  once  in  a 
while  and  teach  her." 

"  I  will  do  it,"  said  I  at  once, — "  if  I  can, 
that  is." 

I  found  out  that  I  could.  The  poor 
child  was  only  too  glad  to  come  to  my 
house  and  take  a  few  lessons  in  house- 
keeping. I  waylaid  her  when  she  was 
going  past  one  day,  and  broached  the 
subject  delicately.  I  said  it  was  a  good 
idea  for  a  young  girl  to  learn  as  much  as 
she  could  about  keeping  a  house  nice  be- 
fore she  had  one  of  her  own,  and  Harriet 
282 


The  Jamesons 

blushed  as  red  as  a  rose  and  thanked  me, 
and  arranged  to  come  for  her  first  lesson 
the  very  next  morning.  I  got  a  large 
gingham  apron  for  her,  and  we  began.  I 
gave  her  a  lesson  in  bread-making  that 
very  day,  and  found  her  an  apt  pupil. 
I  told  her  that  she  would  make  a  very 
good  housekeeper — I  should  not  wonder 
if  as  good  as  Mrs.  Liscom,  who  was,  I 
considered,  the  best  in  the  village;  and 
she  blushed  again  and  kissed  me. 

Louisa  and  I  had  been  a  little  worried 
as  to  what  Mrs.  Jameson  would  say; 
but  we  need  not  have  been.  Mrs.  Jame- 
son was  strenuously  engaged  in  uprooting 
poison-ivy  vines,  which  grew  thickly 
along  the  walls  everywhere  in  the  vil- 
lage. I  must  say  it  seemed  Scriptural  to 
me,  and  made  me  think  better  in  one 
way  of  Mrs.  Jameson,  since  it  did  require 
considerable  heroism. 

Luckily,  old  Martin  was  one  of  the 
few  who  are  exempt  from  the  noxious  in- 
fluence of  poison -ivy,  and  he  pulled  up 
2S3 


The   Centennial 

the  roots  with  impunity,  but  I  must  say- 
without  the  best  success.  Poison-ivy  is 
a  staunch  and  persistent  thing,  and  more 
than  a  match  for  Mrs.  Jameson.  She 
suffered  herself  somewhat  in  the  conflict, 
and  went  about  for  some  time  with  her 
face  and  hands  done  up  in  castor-oil, 
which  we  consider  a  sovereign  remedy 
for  poison-ivy.  Cobb,  too,  was  more  or 
less  a  victim  to  his  mother's  zeal  for  up- 
rooting noxious  weeds. 

It  was  directly  after  the  poison-ivy 
that  Mrs.  Jameson  made  what  may  be 
considered  her  grand  attempt  of  the  sea- 
son. All  at  once  she  discovered  what 
none  of  the  rest  of  us  had  thought  of — I 
suppose  we  must  have  been  lacking  in 
public  feeling  not  to  have  done  so — that 
our  village  had  been  settled  exactly  one 
hundred  years  ago  that  very  August. 

Mrs.    Jameson    came   into    our  house 

with   the  news    on   the  twenty-seventh 

day  of  July.     She  had  just  foimd  it  out 

in  an  old  book  which  had  been  left  be- 

284 


The  Jamesons 

hind  and  forgotten  in  the  garret  of  the 
Wray  house. 

""We  must  have  a  centennial,  of 
course,"  said  she  magisterially. 

Louisa  and  I  stared  at  her.  "  A  cen- 
tennial !  "  said  I  feebly.  I  think  visions 
of  Philadelphia,  and  exhibits  of  the  prod- 
ucts of  the  whole  world  in  our  fields  and 
cow-pastures,  floated  through  my  mind. 
Centennial  had  a  stupendous  sound  to 
me,  and  Louisa  said  afterward  it  had  to 
her. 

"  How  would  you  make  it  ?  "  asked 
Louisa  vaguely  of  Mrs.  Jameson,  as  if  a 
centennial  were  a  loaf  of  gingerbread. 

Mrs.  Jameson  had  formed  her  plans 
with  the  rapidity  of  a  great  general  on 
the  eve  of  a  forced  battle.  "We  will 
take  the  oldest  house  in  town,"  said  she 
promptly.  "  I  think  that  it  is  nearly  as 
old  as  the  village,  and  we  will  fit  it  up  as 
nearly  as  possible  like  a  house  of  one 
hundred  years  ago,  and  we  will  hold  oui 
>celebratk>n  there." 


The  Centennial 

"Let  me  see,  the  oldest  house  is  the 
Shaw  house,"  said  I. 

"Why,  Emily  Shaw  is  living  there," 
said  Louisa  in  wonder. 

"We  shall  make  arrangements  with 
her,"  returned  Mrs.  Jameson,  with  confi- 
dence. She  looked  around  our  sitting- 
room,  and  eyed  our  old-fashioned  high- 
boy, of  which  we  are  very  proud,  and 
an  old-fashioned  table  which  becomes 
a  chair  when  properly  manipulated. 
"  Those  will  be  just  the  things  to  go  in 
one  of  the  rooms,"  said  she,  without  so 
much  as  asking  our  leave. 

"Emily  Shaw's  furniture  will  have  to 
be  put  somewhere  if  so  many  other 
things  are  to  be  moved  in,"  suggested 
Louisa  timidly;  but  Mrs.  Jameson  dis- 
missed that  consideration  with  merely  a 
wave  of  her  hand. 

"  I  think  that  Mrs.  Simeon  White  has 
a  swell-front  bureau  and  an  old  looking- 
glass  which  will  do  very  well  for  one  of 
the  chambers,"  she  went  on  to  say,  "and 
286 


The  Jamesons 

Miss  Clark  has  a  mahogany  table."  Mrs. 
Jameson  went  on  calmly  enumerating 
articles  of  old-fashioned  furniture  which 
she  had  seen  in  our  village  houses  which 
she  considered  suitable  to  be  used  in  the 
Shaw  house  for  the  centennial. 

"  I  don't  see  how  Emily  Shaw  is  going 
to  live  there  while  all  this  is  going  on," 
remarked  Louisa  in  her  usual  deprecatory 
tone  when  addressing  Mrs.  Jameson. 

"  I  think  we  may  be  able  to  leave  her 
one  room,"  said  Mrs.  Jameson;  and  Lou- 
isa and  I  fairly  gasped  when  we  reflected 
that  Emily  Shaw  had  not  yet  heard  a 
word  of  the  plan. 

"I  don't  know  but  Emily  Shaw  will 
put  up  with  it,  for  she  is  pretty  meek," 
said  Louisa  when  Mrs.  Jameson  had  gone 
hurrying  down  the  street  to  impart  her 
scheme  to  others;  "but  it  is  lucky  for 
Mrs.  Jameson  that  Flora  Clark  hasn't 
the  oldest  house  in  town." 

I  said  I  doubted  if  Flora  would  even 
consent  to  let  her  furniture  be  displayed 

287 


The  Centennial 

in  the  centennial;  but  she  did.  Every- 
body consented  to  everything.  I  don't 
know  whether  Mrs.  H.  Boardman  Jame- 
son had  really  any  hypnotic  influence 
over  us,  or  whether  we  had  a  desire  for 
the  celebration,  but  the  whole  village 
marshalled  and  marched  to  her  orders 
with  the  greatest  docility.  All  our  cher- 
ished pieces  of  old  furniture  were  loaded 
into  carts  and  conveyed  to  the  old  Shaw 
house. 

The  centennial  was  to  be  held  the 
tenth  day  of  August,  and  there  was  nec- 
essarily quick  work.  The  whole  village 
was  in  an  uproar;  none  of  us  who  had 
old  -  fashioned  possessions  fairly  knew 
where  we  were  living,  so  many  of  them 
were  in  the  Shaw  house;  we  were  short 
of  dishes  and  bureau  drawers,  and  coun- 
terpanes and  curtains.  Mrs.  Jameson 
never  asked  for  any  of  these  things ;  she 
simply  took  them  as  by  right  of  war, 
and  nobody  gainsaid  her,  not  even  Flora 
Clark.  However,  poor  Emily  Shaw  was 
288 


The  Jamesons 

the  one  who  displayed  the  greatest  meek- 
ness under  provocation.  The  whole  affair 
must  have  seemed  revolutionary  to  her. 
She  was  a  quiet,  delicate  little  woman, 
no  longer  young.  She  did  not  go  out 
much,  not  even  to  the  sewing  circle  or 
the  literary  society,  and  seemed  as  fond 
of  her  home  as  an  animal  of  its  shell — 
as  if  it  were  a  part  of  her.  Old  as  her 
house  was,  she  had  it  fitted  up  in  a  mod- 
ern, and,  to  our  village  ideas,  a  very  pret- 
ty fashion.  Emily  was  quite  well-to-do. 
There  were  nice  tapestry  carpets  on  all 
the  downstairs  floors,  lace  curtains  at  the 
windows,  and  furniture  covered  with  red 
velvet  in  the  parlor.  She  had  also  had  the 
old  fireplaces  covered  up  and  marble  slabs 
set.  There  was  handsome  carved  black 
walnut  furniture  in  the  chambers;  and 
taken  altogether,  the  old  Shaw  house  was 
regarded  as  one  of  the  best  furnished  in  the 
village.  Mrs.  Sim  White  said  she  didn't 
know  as  she  wondered  that  Emily  didn't 
like  to  go  away  from  such  nice  things. 
289 


The  Centennial 

Now  every  one  of  these  nice  things 
was  hustled  out  of  sight  to  make  room 
for  the  pieces  of  old-fashioned  furniture. 
The  tapestry  carpets  were  taken  up  and 
stowed  away  in  the  garrets,  the  lace  cur- 
tains were  pulled  down.  In  their  stead 
were  the  old  sanded  bare  floors  and  cur- 
tains of  homespun  linen  trimmed  with 
hand-knitted  lace.  Emily's  nice  Mar- 
seilles counterpanes  were  laid  aside  for 
the  old  blue-and-white  ones  which  our 
grandmothers  spun  and  wove,  and  her 
fine  oil  paintings  gave  way  to  old  en- 
gravings of  Webster  death-bed  scenes  and 
portraits  of  the  Presidents,  and  samplers. 
Emily  was  left  one  room  to  herself — a 
little  back  chamber  over  the  kitchen — 
and  she  took  her  meals  at  Flora  Clark's, 
next  door.  She  was  obliged  to  do  that,  for 
her  kitchen  range  had  been  taken  down, 
and  there  was  only  the  old  fireplace  fur- 
nished with  kettles  and  crane  to  cook  in. 

"  I  suppose  my  forefathers  used  to  get 
all  their  meals  there,"  said  poor  Emily 
290 


The  Jamesons 

Shaw,  who  has  at  all  times  a  gentle,  sad 
way  of  speaking,  and  then  seemed  on  the 
verge  of  uncomplaining  tears,  "  but  I  don't 
quite  feel  competent  to  undertake  it  now. 
It  looks  to  me  as  if  the  kettles  might 
be  hard  to  lift."  Emily  glanced  at  her 
hands  and  wrists  as  she  spoke.  Emily's 
hands  and  arms  are  very  small  and  bony, 
as  she  is  in  her  general  construction, 
though  she  is  tall. 

The  little  chamber  which  she  inhab- 
ited during  the  preparation  for  the  cen- 
tennial was  very  hot  in  those  midsummer 
days,  and  her  face  was  always  suffused 
with  a  damp  pink  when  she  came  out  of  it ; 
but  she  uttered  no  word  of  complaint,  not 
even  when  they  took  down  her  marble 
slabs  and  exposed  the  yawning  mouths  of 
the  old  fireplaces  again.  All  she  said  was 
once  in  a  deprecatory  whisper  to  me,  to 
the  effect  that  she  was  a  little  sorry  to 
have  strangers  see  her  house  looking  so, 
but  she  supposed  it  was  interesting. 

We  expected  a  number  of  strangers. 
291 


The  Centennial 

Mrs.  Sim  White's  brother,  who  had  gone 
to  Boston  when  he  was  a  young  man  and 
turned  out  so  smart,  being  the  head  of  a 
large  dry7 -goods  firm,  was  coming,  and  was 
to  make  a  speech;  and  Mr.  Elijah  M. 
Mills,  whose  mother's  people  came  from 
Linnville,  was  to  be  there,  as  having  a 
hereditary  interest  in  the  village.  Of 
course,  everybody  knows  Elijah  M.  Mills. 
He  was  to  make  a  speech.  Mrs.  Lucy 
Beers  Wright,  whose  aunt  on  her  father's 
side,  Miss  Jane  Beers,  used  to  live  in 
Linnville  before  she  died,  was  to  come 
and  read  some  selections  from  her  own 
works.  Mrs.  Lucy  Beers  Wright  writes 
quite  celebrated  stories,  and  reads  them 
almost  better  than  she  writes  them.  She 
has  enormous  prices,  too,  but  she  prom- 
ised to  come  to  the  centennial  and  read 
for  nothing ;  she  used  to  visit  her  aunt  in 
linnville  when  she  was  a  girl,  and  wrote 
that  she  had  a  sincere  love  for  the  dear 
old  place.  Mrs.  Jameson  said  that  we 
were  very  fortunate  to  get  her. 

292  0 


The  Jamesons 

Mrs.  Jameson  did  not  stop,  however, 
at  celebrities  of  local  traditions ;  she  flew 
higher  still.  She  wrote  the  Governor  of 
the  State,  inviting  him  to  be  present,  and 
some  of  us  were  never  quite  certain  that 
she  did  not  invite  the  President  of  thd 
United  States.  However,  if  she  had  done 
so,  it  seemed  incredible  that  since  he  was 
bidden  by  Mrs.  II.  Boardman  Jameson  he 
neither  came  nor  wrote  a  letter.  The 
Governor  of  the  State  did  not  come,  but 
he  wrote  a  very  handsome  letter,  express- 
ing the  most  heartfelt  disappointment 
that  he  was  unable  to  be  present  on  such 
an  occasion ;  and  we  all  felt  very  sorry  for 
him  when  we  heard  it  read.  Mrs.  Sim 
White  said  that  a  governor's  life  must 
be  a  hard  one,  he  must  have  to  deny 
himself  many  pleasures.  Our  minister, 
the  Eev.  Henry  P.  Jacobs,  wrote  a  long 
poem  to  be  read  on  the  occasion ;  it  was 
in  blank  verse  like  Young's  "Night 
Thoughts,"  and  some  thought  he  had 
imitated  it;  but  it  was  generally  consid- 
293 


The   Centennial 

ered  rery  fine,  though  we  had  not  the 
pleasure  of  hearing  it  at  the  centennial — 
why,  I  will  explain  later. 

There  was  to  be  a  grand  procession,  of 
•ourse,  illustrative  of  the  arts,  trades, 
and  professions  in  our  village  a  hundred 
years  ago  and  at  the  present  time,  and 
Mrs.  Jameson  engineered  that.  I  never 
Raw  a  woman  work  as  she  did.  Louisa 
and  I  agreed  that  she  could  not  be  so 
very  delicate  after  all.  She  had  a  finger 
in  everything  except  the  cooking;  that 
she  left  mostly  to  the  rest  of  us,  though 
she  did  break  over  in  one  instance  to  our 
sorrow.  We  made  pound-cake,  and  cup- 
cake, and  Indian  puddings,  and  pies,  and 
we  baked  beans  enough  for  a  standing 
army.  Of  course,  the  dinner  was  to  be 
after  the  fashion  of  one  of  a  hundred  years 
ago.  The  old  oven  in  the  Shaw  kitchen 
was  to  be  heated,  and  Indian  puddings 
and  pies  baked  in  it;  but  that  would  not 
hold  enough  for  such  a  multitude  as  we  ex- 
pected, so  we  all  baked  at  home — that  is, 
294 


The  Jamesons 

all  except  Caroline  Liscom.  She  would 
not  bake  a  thing  because  Mrs.  Jameson 
got  up  the  centennial,  and  she  declared 
that  she  would  not  go.  However,  she 
changed  her  mind,  which  was  fortunate 
enough  as  matters  afterward  transpired. 

The  tenth  of  August,  which  was  the 
one  hundredth  anniversary  of  the  settle- 
ment of  our  village,  dawned  bright  and 
clear,  for  which  we  were  thankful, 
though  it  was  very  hot.  The  exercises 
were  to  begin  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the 
morning  with  the  procession.  We  were 
to  assemble  at  the  old  Shaw  house  at 
half -past  twelve;  the  dinner  was  to  be 
at  half -past  one,  after  an  hour  of  social 
intercourse  which  would  afford  people  an 
opportunity  of  viewing  the  house,  and  a 
few  of  us  an  opportunity  of  preparing  the 
dinner.  After  dinner  were  to  be  the 
speeches  and  readings,  which  must  be 
concluded  in  season  for  the  out-of-town 
celebrities  to  take  the  Grover  stage-coach 
to  connect  with  the  railroad  train. 
295 


The   Centennial 

By  eight  o'clock  people  began  to  arrive 
from  other  villages,  and  to  gather  on  the 
street  corners  to  view  the  procession.  It 
was  the  very  first  procession  ever  organ- 
ized in  our  village,  and  we  were  very 
proud  of  it.  For  the  first  time  Mrs. 
Jameson  began  to  be  regarded  with  real 
gratitude  and  veneration  as  a  local  bene- 
factress. We  told  all  the  visitors  that 
Mrs.  II.  Boardman  Jameson  got  up  the 
centennial,  and  we  were  proud  that  she 
was  one  of  us  when  we  saw  her  driving 
past  in  the  procession.  We  thought  it 
exceedingly  appropriate  that  the  Jame- 
sons— Mr.  Jameson  had  come  on  from 
New  York  for  the  occasion — should  ride 
in  the  procession  with  the  minister  and 
the  lawyer  in  a  barouche  from  Grover. 
Barouches  seemed  that  day  to  be  illustra- 
tive of  extremest  progress  in  carriages, 
in  contrast  with  the  old  Linnville  and 
Wardville  stage-coaches,  and  the  old 
chaise  and  doctor's  sulky,  all  of  which 
had  needed  to  be  repaired  with  infinite 
11  296 


The  Jamesons 

care,  and  were  driven  with  gingerly  fore- 
sight, lest  they  fall  to  pieces  on  the  line 
of  march.  We  really  pitied  the  village 
doctor  in  the  aged  sulky,  for  it  seemed  as 
if  he  might  have  to  set  a  bone  for  himself 
by  reason  of  the  sudden  and  total  col- 
lapse of  his  vehicle.  Mrs.  Jameson  had 
decreed  that  he  should  ride  in  it,  how- 
ever, and  there  was  no  evading  her  man- 
date. 

Mrs.  Jameson  looked  very  imposing  in 
her  barouche,  and  we  were  glad  that  she 
wore  one  of  her  handsome  black  silks 
instead  of  her  sensible  short  costume. 
There  was  a  good  deal  of  jet  about  the 
waist,  and  her  bonnet  was  all  made  of  jet, 
with  a  beautiful  tuft  of  pink  roses  on  the 
front,  and  she  glittered  resplendently  as 
she  rode  past,  sitting  up  very  straight,  aa 
befitted  the  dignity  of  the  occasion. 

"That  is  Mrs.  H.  Boardman  Jameson/ 

said  we,  and  we  mentioned  incidentally 

that  the  gentleman  beside  her  was  Mr. 

Jameson.      We    were  not   as   proud   of 

297 


The  Centennial    N 

Mm,  since  all  that  he  had  done  which 
we  knew  of  was  to  lose  all  his  money  and 
have  his  friends  get  him  a  place  in  the 
custom-house;  he  was  merely  a  satellite 
of  his  wife,  who  had  gotten  up  our  cen- 
tennial. 

Words  could  not  express  the  admira- 
tion which  we  all  felt  for  the  procession. 
It  was  really  accomplished  in  a  masterly 
manner,  especially  taking  into  considera- 
tion the  shortness  of  the  time  for  prepar- 
ation ;  but  that  paled  beside  the  wonders 
of  the  old  Shaw  house.  I  was  obliged 
to  be  in  the  kitchen  all  during  that  hour 
of  inspection  and  social  intercourse,  but  I 
could  hear  the  loud  bursts  of  admiration. 
The  house  seemed  full  of  exclamation- 
points.  Flora  Clark  said  for  her  part  she 
could  not  see  why  folks  could  not  look  at 
a  thing  and  think  it  was  pretty  without 
screaming;  but  she  was  tired,  and  proba- 
bly a  little  vexed  at  herself  for  working 
so  hard  when  Mrs.  Jameson  had  gotten 
up  the  centennial.  It  was  very  warm  in 
298 


The  Jamesons 

the  kitchen,  too,  for  Mrs.  Jameson  had 
herself  started  the  hearth  fire  in  order  to 
exemplify  to  the  utmost  the  old  custom. 
The  kettles  on  the  crane  were  all  steam- 
ing. Flora  Clark  said  it  was  nonsense 
to  have  a  hearth -fire  on  such  a  hot  day 
because  our  grandmothers  were  obliged 
to,  but  she  was  in  the  minority.  Most 
of  the  ladies  were  inclined  to  follow  Mrs. 
Jameson's  lead  unquestionably  on  that 
occasion.  They  even  exclaimed  admir- 
ingly over  two  chicken  pies  which  she 
brought,  and  which  I  must  say  had  a 
singular  appearance.  The  pastry  looked 
very  hard  and  of  a  curious  leaden  color. 
Mrs.  Jameson  said  that  she  made  them 
herself  out  of  whole  wheat,  without 
shortening,  and  she  evidently  regarded 
them  as  triumphs  of  wholesomeness  and 
culinary  skill.  She  furthermore  stated 
that  she  had  remained  up  all  night  to 
bake  them,  which  we  did  not  doubt,  as 
Hannah  Bell,  her  help,  had  been  em- 
ployed steadily  in  the  old  Shaw  house. 
299 


The   Centennial 

Mrs.  Jameson  had  cut  the  pies  before 
bringing  them,  which  Flora  Clark  whis- 
pered was  necessary.  "  I  know  that  she 
had  to  cut  them  with  a  hatchet  and  a 
hammer/  whispered  she ;  and  really  when 
we  came  to  try  them  later  it  did  not  seem 
so  unlikely.  I  never  saw  such  pastry, 
anything  like  the  toughness  and  cohe- 
siveness  of  it ;  the  chicken  was  not  sea- 
soned well,  either.  We  could  eat  very 
little;  with  a  few  exceptions,  we  could 
do  no  more  than  taste  of  it,  which  was 
fortunate. 

I  may  as  well  mention  here  that  the 
few  greedy  individuals,  who  I  fancy  fre- 
quent all  social  functions  with  an  under- 
current of  gastronomical  desire  for  their 
chief  incentive,  came  to  grief  by  reason 
of  Mrs.  Jameson's  chicken  pies.  She 
baked  them  without  that  opening  in  the 
upper  crust  which,  as  every  good  house- 
wife knows,  is  essential,  and  there  were 
dire  reports  of  sufferings  in  consequence. 
The  village  doctor,  after  his  precarious 
300 


The  Jameson,* 

drive  in  the  ancient  sulky,  had  a  night  of 
toil.  Caleb — commonly  called  Kellup — 
Bates,  and  his  son  Thomas,  were  the 
principal  sufferers,  they  being  notorious 
eaters  and  the  terrors  of  sewing- circle 
suppers.  Flora  Clark  confessed  to  me 
that  she  was  relieved  when  she  saw  them 
out  again,  since  she  had  passed  the  pies  to 
them  three  times,  thinking  that  such  de- 
vourers  would  stop  at  nothing  and  she 
might  as  well  save  the  delicacies  for  the 
more  temperate. 

We  were  so  thankful  that  none  of  the 
out-of-town  celebrities  ate  Mrs.  Jame- 
son's chicken  pies,  since  they  had  a 
rather  unfortunate  experience  as  it  was. 
The  dinner  was  a  very  great  success,  and 
Flora  Clark  said  to  me  that  if  people  a 
hundred  years  ago  ate  those  hearty,  nour- 
ishing victuals  as  these  people  did,  she 
didn't  wonder  that  the  men  had  strength 
to  found  a  Eepublic,  but  she  did  wonder 
how  the  women  folks  who  had  to  cook 
for  them  had  time  and  strength  to  live, 
301 


The   Centennial 

After  dinner  the  speechifying  began. 
The  Rev.  Henry  P.  Jacobs  made  the 
opening  address ;  we  had  agreed  that  he 
should  be  invited  to  do  so,  since  he  was 
the  minister.  He  asked  the  blessing  be- 
fore we  began  to  eat,  and  made  the  open- 
ing address  afterward.  Mr.  Jacobs  is 
considered  a  fine  speaker,  and  he  is  never 
at  a  loss  for  ideas.  We  all  felt  proud  of 
him  as  he  stood  up  and  began  to  speak  of 
the  state  of  the  Linnville  church  a  hun- 
dred years  ago,  and  contrasted  those  days 
of  fireless  meeting-houses  with  the  com- 
forts of  the  sanctuary  at  the  present  time. 
He  also  had  a  long  list  of  statistics.  I 
began  at  last  to  feel  a  little  uneasy  lest 
he  might  read  his  poem,  and  so  rob  the 
guests  who  were  to  speak  of  their  quotas 
of  time.  Louisa  said  she  thought  he  was 
intending  to,  but  she  saw  Mrs.  Jameson 
whisper  to  her  husband,  who  immediately 
tiptoed  around  to  him  with  a  scared  and 
important  look,  and  said  something  in  a 
low  voice.  Then  the  minister,  with  a 
302 


The  Jamesons 

somewhat  crestfallen  air,  curtailed  his 
remarks,  saying  something  about  his 
hoping  to  read  a  poem  a  little  later  on 
that  auspicious  occasion,  but  that  he 
would  now  introduce  Mrs.  H.  Boardman 
Jameson,  to  whom  they  were  all  so  much 
indebted. 

Mrs.  Jameson  arose  and  bowed  to  the 
company,  and  adjusted  her  eyeglasses. 
Her  jets  glittered,  her  eyes  shone  with  a 
commanding  brightness,  and  she  really 
looked  very  imposing.  After  a  few 
words,  which  even  Flora  Clark  acknowl- 
edged were  very  well  chosen,  she  read 
the  Governor's  letter  with  great  impres- 
siveness.  Then  she  went  on  to  read  other 
letters  from  people  who  were  noteworthy 
in  some  way  and  had  some  association 
with  the  village.  Flora  Clark  said  that 
she  believed  that  Mrs.  Jameson  had  writ- 
ten to  every  celebrity  whose  grandfather 
ever  drove  through  Linnville.  She  did 
have  a  great  many  letters  from  people 
who  we  were  surprised  to  hear  had  ever 
303 


The   Centennial 

heard  of  us,  and  they  were  very  interest- 
ing. Still  it  did  take  time  to  read  them ; 
and  after  she  had  finished  them  all,  Mrs. 
Jameson  commenced  to  speak  on  her  own 
account.  She  had  some  notes  which  she 
consulted  unobtrusively  from  time  to 
time.  She  dwelt  mainly  upon  the  vast 
improvement  for  the  better  in  our  condi- 
tion during  the  last  hundred  years.  She 
mentioned  in  this  connection  Robert 
Browning,  the  benefit  of  whose  teaching 
was  denied  our  ancestors  of  a  hundred 
years  ago.  She  also  mentioned  hygienic 
bread  as  a  contrast  to  the  heavy,  indiges- 
tible masses  of  corn-meal  concoctions  and 
the  hurtful  richness  of  pound-cake.  Mrs. 
Jameson  galloped  with  mild  state  all  her 
little  hobbies  for  our  delectation,  and  the 
time  went  on.  AVe  had  sat  very  long  at 
dinner ;  it  was  later  than  we  had  planned 
when  the  speechifying  began.  Mrs. 
Jameson  did  not  seem  to  be  in  the  least 
aware  of  the  flight  of  time  as  she  peace- 
fully proceeded ;  nor  did  she  see  how  we 
3°4 


The  Jamesons 

were  all  fidgeting.  Still,  nobody  spoke  to 
her;  nobody  quite  dared,  and  then  we 
thought  every  sentence  would  be  her  last. 
The  upshot  of  it  was  that  the  Grover 
stage-coach  arrived,  and  Mrs.  Sim  White's 
brother,  Elijah  M.  Mills,  and  Mrs.  Lucy 
Beers  Wright,  besides  a  number  of  others 
of  lesser  fame,  were  obliged  to  leave 
without  raising  their  voices,  or  lose  their 
trains,  which  for  such  busy  people  was 
not  to  be  thought  of.  There  was  much 
subdued  indignation  and  discomfiture 
among  us,  and  I  dare  say  among  the 
guests  themselves.  Mrs.  Lucy  Beers 
Wright  was  particularly  haughty,  even  to 
Mrs.  Sim  White,  who  did  her  best  to  ex- 
press her  regret  without  blaming  Mrs. 
Jameson.  As  for  Elijah  M.  Mills,  Louisa 
said  she  heard  him  say  something  which 
she  would  not  repeat,  when  he  was  put- 
ting on  his  hat.  He  is  a  fine  speaker, 
and  noted  for  the  witty  stories  which  he 
tells ;  we  felt  that  we  had  missed  a  great 
deal.  I  must  say,  to  do  her  justice,  that 
3°5 


The  Centennial 

Mrs.  Jameson  seemed  somewhat  per- 
turbed, and  disposed  to  be  conciliating 
when  she  bade  the  guests  good-by;  she 
was  even  apologetic  in  her  calmly  supe- 
rior way. 

However,  the  guests  had  not  been 
gone  long  before  something  happened  to 
put  it  all  out  of  our  minds  for  the  time. 
The  Rev.  Henry  P.  Jacobs  had  just  stood 
up  again,  writh  a  somewhat  crestfallen 
air,  to  read  his  poem — I  suppose  he  was 
disappointed  to  lose  the  more  important 
part  of  his  audience — when  there  was  a 
little  scream,  and  poor  Harriet  Jameson 
was  all  in  a  blaze.  She  wore  a  white 
muslin  dress,  and  somehow  it  had  caught 
— I  suppose  from  a  spark ;  she  had  been 
sitting  near  the  hearth,  though  we  had 
thought  the  fire  was  out.  Harry  Lis  com 
made  one  spring  for  her  when  he  saw 
what  had  happened ;  but  he  had  not  been 
very  near  her,  and  a  woman  was  before 
him.  She  caught  up  the  braided  rug 
from  the  floor,  and  in  a  second  Harriet 
306 


The  Jamesons 

was  bome  down  under  it,  and  then  Harry 
was  there  with  his  coat,  and  Sim  White, 
and  the  fire  was  out.  Poor  Harriet 
was  not  much  hurt,  only  a  few  trifling 
burns;  but  if  it  had  not  been  for  the 
woman  she  might  easily  have  gotten  her 
death,  and  our  centennial  ended  in  a 
tragedy. 

It  had  all  been  done  so  quickly  that 
we  had  not  fairly  seen  who  the  woman 
who  snatched  up  the  rug  was,  but  when 
the  fire  was  out  we  knew :  Caroline  Lis- 
com.  She  was  somewhat  burned  herself, 
too,  but  she  did  not  seem  to  mind  that  at 
all.  She  was,  to  our  utter  surprise — for 
we  all  knew  how  she  had  felt  about  Har- 
ry's marrying  Harriet — cuddling  the  girl 
in  her  motherly  arms,  the  sleeves  of  her 
best  black  grenadine  being  all  scorched, 
too,  and  telling  her  that  she  must  not  be 
frightened,  the  fire  was  all  out,  and  call- 
ing her  my  dear  child,  and  kissing  her. 
I,  for  one,  never  knew  that  Caroline  Lis- 
com  could  display  so  much  warmth  of 
307 


The   Centennial 

love  and  pity,  and  that  toward  a  girl 
whom  she  was  determined  her  son  should 
not  marry,  and  before  so  many.  I  sup- 
pose when  she  saw  the  poor  child  all  in  a 
blaze,  and  thought  she  would  be  burned 
to  death,  her  heart  smote  her,  and  she 
felt  that  she  would  do  anything  in  the 
world  if  she  only  lived. 

Harry  Liscom  was  as  white  as  a  sheet. 
Once  or  twice  he  tried  to  push  his  moth- 
er away,  as  if  he  wished  to  do  the  com- 
forting and  cuddling  himself;  but  she 
would  not  have  it.  "  Poor  child !  poor 
child !  "  she  kept  repeating;  " it's  all  over, 
don't  be  frightened,"  as  if  Harriet  had 
been  a  baby. 

Then  Mrs.  H.  Boardman  Jameson 
came  close  to  Caroline  Liscom,  and  tears 
were  running  down  her  cheeks  quite 
openly.  She  did  not  even  have  out  her 
handkerchief,  and  she  threw  her  arms 
right  around  the  other  woman  who  had 
saved  her  daughter.  "God  bless  you! 
Oh,  God  bless  you ! "  she  said ;  then  her 
308 


The  Jamesons 

voice  broke  and  she  sobbed  out  loud.  I 
think  a  good  many  of  us  joined  her.  As 
for  Caroline  Lis  com,  she  sort  of  pushed 
Harriet  toward  her  son,  and  then  she 
threw  her  poor,  scorched  arms  around 
Mrs.  H.  Boardman  Jameson  and  kissed 
her.  "Oh,  let  us  both  thank  God!" 
sobbed  Caroline. 

As  soon  as  we  got  calm  enough  we 
took  Harriet  upstairs ;  her  pretty  muslin 
was  fluttering  around  her  in  yellow  rags, 
and  the  slight  burns  needed  attention; 
she  was  also  exhausted  with  the  nervous 
shock,  and  was  trembling  like  a  leaf,  her 
cheeks  white  and  her  eyes  big  with  ter- 
ror. Caroline  Lis  com  and  her  mother 
came  too,  and  Caroline  concealed  her 
burns  until  Harriet's  were  dressed. 
Luckily,  the  doctor  was  there.  Then 
Harriet  was  induced  to  lie  down  on  the 
north  chamber  bed  on  the  old  blue-and- 
white  counterpane  that  Mrs.  Sim  White's 
mother  spun  and  wove. 

Rev.  Henry  P.  Jacobs  did  not  read  his 
3°9 


The  Centennial 

poem;  we  were  too  much  perturbed  to 
listen  to  it,  and  nobody  mentioned  it  to 
him.  Flora  Clark  whispered  to  me  that 
if  he  began  she  should  go  home ;  for  her 
part,  she  felt  as  if  she  had  gone  through 
enough  that  day  without  poetry.  The 
poem  was  delivered  by  special  request  at 
our  next  sewing  circle,  but  I  think  the 
minister  was  always  disappointed,  though 
he  strove  to  bear  it  with  Christian  grace. 
However,  within  three  months  he  had  to 
console  him  a  larger  wedding  fee  than 
often  falls  to  a  minister  in  Linnville. 

The  centennial  dissolved  soon  after  the 
burning  accident.  There  was  nothing 
more  to  do  but  to  put  the  Shaw  house  to 
rights  again  and  restore  the  various  arti- 
cles to  their  owners,  which,  of  course, 
could  not  be  done  that  day,  nor  for  many 
days  to  come.  I  think  I  never  worked 
harder  in  my  life  than  I  did  setting  things 
to  rights  after  our  centennial ;  but  I  had 
one  consolation  through  it,  and  that  was 
the  happiness  of  the  two  young  things, 
310 


The  Jamesons 

who  had  had  indirectly  their  love  tangle 
smoothed  out  by  it. 

Caroline  Lis  com  and  Mrs.  Jameson 
were  on  the  very  best  of  terms,  and  Har- 
riet was  running  over  to  Caroline's  house 
to  take  lessons  in  housekeeping,  instead 
of  to  mine,  before  the  week  was  out. 

There  was  a  beautiful  wedding  the  last 
of  October,  and  young  Mrs.  Harry  Lis- 
com  has  lived  in  our  midst  ever  since, 
being  considered  one  of  the  most  notable 
housekeepers  in  the  village  for  her  age. 
She  and  her  husband  live  with  Caroline 
Liscom,  and  Louisa  says  sometimes  that 
she  believes  Caroline  loves  the  girl  better 
than  she  does  her  own  son,  and  that  she 
fairly  took  her  into  her  heart  when  she 
saved  her  life. 

"Some  women  can't  love  anybody  ex- 
cept their  own  very  much  unless  they  can 
do  something  for  them, "  says  Louisa ;  and 
I  don't  know  but  she  is  right. 

The  Jamesons  are  still  with  us  every 
summer — even  Grandma  Cobb,  who  does 
3" 


The  Centennial 

not  seem  to  grow  feeble  at  all.  Sarah  is 
growing  to  be  quite  a  pretty  girl,  and 
there  is  a  rumor  that  Charlie  White  is 
attentive  to  her,  though  they  are  both 
almost  too  young  to  think  of  such  things. 
Cobb  is  a  very  nice  boy,  and  people  say 
they  had  as  soon  have  him  come  in  and 
sit  a  while  and  talk,  as  a  girl.  As  for 
Mrs.  Jameson,  she  still  tries  to  improve 
us  at  times,  not  always  with  our  full  con- 
currence, and  her  ways  are  still  not  alto- 
gether our  ways,  provoking  mirth,  or 
calling  for  charity.  Yet  I  must  say  we 
have  nowadays  a  better  understanding  of 
her  good  motives,  having  had  possibly 
our  spheres  enlarged  a  little  by  her,  after 
all,  and  having  gained  broader  views 
from  the  points  of  view  of  people  outside 
our  narrow  lives.  I  think  .we  most  of  us 
are  really  fond  of  Mrs.  H.  Boardman 
Jameson,  and  are  very  glad  that  the 
Jamesons  came  to  our  village. 


THB   END 
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